


It was always you

by LadyIrina



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angry Sex, Banter, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multiple times, Older Man/Younger Man, Reincarnation, UST, crazy meets crazy and sparks fly, more tropes than you can shake a viking sword at
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-05-13 13:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19251928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/pseuds/LadyIrina
Summary: After learning about Heahmund's death, Ivar turns to dark magic to get a second chance.For one millenium their souls will be bound together; cursed to meet as strangers during every century.But can they find a happy ending before time runs out and the spell breaks?





	1. 1100 – The tradesman's son and the stranger

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so, after canon decided to take the UST between Ivar and Heahmund out back and shoot it, I swore to never write about this ship ever again.  
> *ahem*  
> But this idea has been bugging me since then, I had done some work on it already, and for some reason it felt right to finish it now. Is it connected to the Battle of Wills universe? You decide!  
> I hope you'll enjoy, that you'll be able to forgive me and that you let me know your thoughts along the way.  
> This fic will be updated (RL allowing it) every Monday and Thursday. (And I am one of the rare souls who do NOT mind getting nagged for updates!)

_Prologue;_  
_"You said you were the one. You said I could trust you." Ivar sneered out the words, torn between grief and anger as he stood in front of Heahmund's grave. Learning of his bishop's death in battle had been bittersweet._  
_A part of him was smugly satisfied that the traitor got what he deserved for siding with the blonde whore, but there was also something inside Ivar, something he had refused to acknowledge before he had lost everything else as well, something that just wouldn't stop mourning what could have been.  
_ _As much as he wanted to forget about Heahmund, he wasn't able to do so. Ivar's anger and broken heart wouldn't let him._

_One millennium, the dark witch had told him._

_Ivar slid the knife across his palm and then clutched the small bag she had given him, letting the blood wet the cloth and mix with the ingredients inside. It smelled like death and unnatural things.  
It had been a desperate decision to turn to magic, but Ivar had come to a point where he no longer cared about the consequences. He merely wanted what was his._

_When he held the saturated bag over the grave, Ivar watched the blood drip to the ground._

_One millennium the spell would last.  
One millennium where his and Heahmund's souls were bound together and cursed to meet._

\---

[](https://imgbb.com/)   


\---

**1100-century**

**The tradesman's son and the stranger**

They were feared once, not too long ago. The mighty vikings who came across the sea.

Ivar contemplates this fact as he sits by the waterfront, absently dangling his legs over the edge. The waters here in England are always calmer than the ones back home.  
Yes, his people were feared, but not anymore. Not really.  
One example is how his father is currently in town, merrily sharing drinks with the men his father and his father's father had done battle against. Pathetic.

Ivar had fled the cheerful gathering and returned to where their boat was tied up and waiting for them to set sail back to Norway.  
This had been his first trip across the ocean, the first time his father had allowed him to join him on his trading venture, and Ivar had been eager to see the land his ancestors kept returning to pillage. He pictured a land of wealth and beauty.  
Ivar stares at their boat gently rolling on the lazy curl of the waters and wonders if she had been equally disappointed as him when she first arrived on the English shores.  
England, it turned out, wasn't that different from back home and where Ivar had grown up with the tales of the brave warriors who set out to go viking, while here they were more like a bad memory.

The sound of footsteps approaching snaps Ivar out of his thoughts. He knows the sound of his father's footsteps and this is not him. He turns to look.

It's one of the Englishmen. Ivar had noticed him back in the town. Dark haired, like Ivar, but with piercing gray eyes and more years on his back. He gives a little smile at the sight of Ivar, lifting a bottle in his hand as a peace offering.

Ivar turns back to stare out over the ocean. He's not sure why, but the man makes him uncomfortable and it annoys him. "What do you want?" In the old days, no lone Englishman would have dared to sneak up on a Norseman in the dark.

"I noticed you sneaking off." The man replies and has the audacity to sit down next to him, close enough that their shoulders almost touch. "I got curious."

Ivar glares over at him. 

Smoothly ignoring the hostile attitude, the man takes a drink from his bottle. "I'm Heahmund."

"Ivar." Ivar replies, not willing to give him any more words than strictly necessary.

"Ivar..." Heahmund appears to search his brain for something and lights up when he finds what he's looking for in there. "After Ivar the Boneless?"

Feeling a spark of pride, Ivar nods. For as long as he can remember, he's always looked up to their former king. He had gone viking, conquered lands, defeated his enemies and come up with some of the best tactics in warfare that were still being used, and this despite being a cripple. People had feared Ivar the Boneless. "He was one of the leaders for the Great Army."

Heahmund is the one to nod this time, strangely serious. "I know. I lost my grandfather to his army."

Barely resisting the urge to smile at the thought of his country's old infamy, Ivar can't resist adding; "Ivar the Boneless was a great tactician. He was the one who won them their final victory."

"I heard," Heahmund says, deceptively mellow, "that he was quite insane."

Ivar flinches at the insult and anger quickly flares up. He jumps to his feet and clenches his hands into tight fists. "A convenient excuse from the people who was forced into submission by his strength." He doesn't back away when Heahmund gets up on his feet as well. "And who knows, maybe one day we'll come back and finish what Ivar the Boneless started."  
To Ivar's disappointment, there is neither anger nor fear in Heahmund's eyes, instead there is a harsh amusement at the bold words.

Ivar is unprepared for how quickly Heahmund moves. One moment they are staring at each other, the next he is shoved harshly against the side of one of the massive ships pulled up on land for maintenance. His breath is almost knocked out of him and he vaguely registers the hard grip Heahmund's hands has on his upper arms.

"I don't think so." Heahmund says, his voice low and smooth. "I think your people's pillaging days are over. Do you know why I think that?"

Ivar opens and closes his mouth, but no sound emerges. Heahmund is too close, his eyes too hypnotizing, his grip is too real.  
Ivar's heart is thumping in his chest and he's acutely aware of how it's not fear that makes it frantic.  
Strangely enough, he can't help but to notice how handsome Heahmund is. From the curve of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders to the heat of his hands, and suddenly Ivar **is** afraid.

"Back in the old days, men like Ivar the Boneless was to be feared." Heahmund admits, leaning closer. "But now...?" His gaze lazily caresses its way down from Ivar's eyes to his mouth before he slowly drags it back up again. "Now none of you have the courage to merely 'take' what you want."  
Heahmund's mouth comes down on Ivar's like an invading force, taking and not asking.

There is a distinct possibility that Ivar makes a startled sound, but he will deny it to his dying day. He flails under the sensation, but the harsh grip on his upper arms keeps him in place and he can only raise his own hands enough to take a hold of Heahmund's hips. He means to push Heahmund away, that is his intention, but for some reason, his hands just linger there.  
And when the Englishman has the audacity to force a broad thigh between Ivar's, giving him a slow, rolling pressure against the increasingly interested flesh there, Ivar trembles and his brain stops working all together.

Ivar knows his own touch, has been with several girls, and has found pleasure in both situations, but that is nothing compared to this.  
He feels dizzy, saturated with lust and greed, pulling Heahmund closer instead of away.

Heahmund's lips feels soft yet anything but gentle. His stubble rakes at Ivar's skin and the slight pain only makes Ivar want it more. Everything about the Englishman is an impossible mix of soft and hard, intrusive and yet beckoning. 

When voices in the distance makes Heahmund pull away, Ivar gasps for air but doesn't let go of Heahmund's shirt.

Scanning the source of the voices and finding it to be only a couple of fishermen heading home, Heahmund turns his attention back to Ivar. He smiles at the sight.

Ivar knows he's a flustered mess and hates him for it. But he also wants him even more.  
Heahmund's smile widens, as if he knows, and Ivar suddenly finds the strength to release his grip on Heahmund's shirt and finally pushes him away.

Allowing the move, stepping back, Heahmund radiates smugness.

Ivar feels a flicker of anger inside and latches on to it. 

"Sweet little lion," Heahmund says with a touch of what sounds like affectionate condescension. "A boy with a lion's heart, that's what you are. You still have a long way to go yet in life." He reaches out and draws his thumb along Ivar's lips, appearing to appreciate the soft sensation. "I suggest you let go of the past, Ivar. Focus on the future instead."

Ivar glares daggers at Heahmund's back as the Englishman leaves. Ivar's heart is still thumping in his chest, arousal is still curled tight low in his belly and anger makes him tremble.

The next day Ivar and his father sets sail for home, but not without Ivar casting a thoughtful glance back at where he can see Heahmund watching him amidst a small group of other fishermen.  
Forget the past, he'd said. Let it go. Focus on the future.

Ivar's eyes narrow with fierce determination.  
He will never forget the past, and as for the future? Well, Ivar fully intends to shape it as he sees fit, just like Ivar the Boneless would have.

Ivar is going to find and take what he wants.

\---

**Next: 1200-century: A hirdsman and the royal guard**


	2. 1200 - A hirdsman and the royal guard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hird basically started out as royal guards and went wherever the king went, then they were given more administrative duties over time, eventually evolving into a sort of nobility/higher class that had money, powerful positions and no longer traveled with the king. /brief and exteremly watered down explanation

[ ](https://imgbb.com/)

\---  
 **1200 - A hirdsman and the royal guard**

Heahmund is furious. Not only had King Håkonsen managed to conspire with the church to make a grab for the hird's power, but the man had the audacity to suggest that he'd meet with Heahmund and several of the other of the hird to 'talk' and that they'd do it under Heahmund's roof.

Things were changing in Norway, but not to the better for Heahmund and his kind. Greedy kings were nothing new, but Håkon Håkonsen was a bigger threat than any other king. He'd managed to get the church on his side and now they both aimed to restrict the hird's power while pretending to give it back to the farmers.  
As much as Heahmund resents the man, he has to give the king his due for coming up with a brilliant scheme to become more powerful 'and' appear as a savior to the lower classes.

It's in the middle of the night, other people are either asleep or involved in rowdy drinking in the main hall, when Heahmund makes his way to the kitchen. His anger at being forced to house and feed his enemies has kept his appetite from him all day, but now he feels a yawning pit in his belly and hopes some food might fill it. 

The kitchen is, as he suspected, completely abandoned. Whichever servant not currently asleep is busy running back and forth between serving beer in the main hall and bringing up new barrels from the cellar. (The though of Håkonsen and his acolytes drinking up his beer makes Heahmund clench his jaw so hard it hurts.)  
He forces himself to focus on his mission; food, so he can retire to his room again as fast as humanely possible. Heahmund decides that must be why he doesn't hear the door open, only when it closes.

Spinning around, Heahmund finds himself looking at a young man with dark hair and incredibly blue eyes. He easily recognizes him from earlier; it's one of Håkonsen's royal guards.  
"What do you want?" Heahmund snaps, keenly aware of the kitchen counter against his back and an armed soldier between him and the only exit. 

The young man smiles, but it's not a kind smile. It's the kind of smile a fox would give to a rabbit. Everything about this man screams danger and violence. "You don't like us much." He gives a faint shrug. "So when I saw you sneaking about, I had to make sure you weren't planning anything."

Heahmund's eyes narrows. So the boy had been watching him all night? Well, it wasn't like Heahmund had made little effort to hide his displeasure at the king's efforts of depriving him of money and power, but to accuse him of scheming against the king? That could get a person killed, even someone from the hird. "It's my home. I'm allowed to walk around in it."

That only brings another shrug. The guard doesn't say anything else, merely keeps those unnerving eyes on Heahmund. There is something in that intensely focused look that makes the hair stand at the back of Heahmund's neck. Someone that handsome shouldn't have such dangerous eyes.

Heahmund forces himself to not break eye contact. "Now that you've seen I'm not meeting secret conspirators to instigate a peasant rebellion, do you mind leaving me alone?"

That brings another smile to the guard's face and it's still not a reassuring sight. Especially not when he rests his hand on the hilt of the sword hanging by his hip. "Do you know what I think?"  
Heahmund sneers. "Do you honestly think I care?"  
"I think," the stranger says, taking a step forward, "that it's not so much the loss of the money or the king gaining more power that bothers you." His eyes narrow a little, making his gaze even sharper. "You just don't like being told what to do, don't you?"

Heahmund is finding it hard to breathe for some reason. He feels trapped, unsettled and... something else. He licks his lips nervously. "Who are you?"

"My name is Ivar."

"As one of the king's thugs, you couldn't possibly understand." Heahmund comes from old blood and lots of money, while this Ivar is merely a hired killer who probably was born on some farm nobody has ever heard of. 

"Oh, I think I do." Ivar's voice warns him that he is treading on dangerous ground. "I think I understand perfectly. It's you who don't understand." He steps forward again, this time not stopping until he is standing right in front of Heahmund, and then he has the nerve to give Heahmund an order; "Turn around."

Heahmund blinks. His initial reaction is to refuse, he is a hird and Ivar is merely a soldier, for him to give Heahmund orders is absurd, but his second instinct is to do exactly that; obey. Partially because this blue eyed devil is clearly not sane and has a sword in his possession, but there is also something quivering eagerly inside him in reaction to Ivar's proximity and it wants to obey.

"I said, turn around." Ivar repeats, his voice sharp with impatience.

Heahmund turns around. His throat is dry, his heart is thundering in his chest and for some reason; he can feel heat crawling up his neck.

"Place your hands on the table." Ivar orders next, his voice a rough caress by Heahmund's ear. He must have moved even closer.  
Palms down, Heahmund rests his hands on the table and he has no time to chastise himself for now merely doing what he's told as he is suddenly distracted by the touch of Ivar's hands. One hand rests on Heahmund's left hip, while the other slides up his stomach and chest.

"Most of the hird, most rich men in general, are fat, soft and useless." Ivar's lips brush by Heahmund's ear as he speaks. "But not you." His hand stops to thumb at a nipple and Heahmund twitches. "You're different. You weren't made for a lazy life, Heahmund. You're like me."

Heahmund inhales to object, his mind is struggling to work and to his disgrace; his body is more interested in responding to the lewd caresses rather than listening to his brain. But this is one insult he can't let slide by. "I'm not... like you." He's better.

Ivar chuckles at that, amused and anything but convinced. He reaches down and cups Heahmund's cock, which has absolutely no problem with his line of thinking. "You are just like me." Ivar insists, giving him a teasing squeeze and Heahmund shudders and moans like a wounded animal.

When did Heahmund lose control? When Ivar had closed the door to the room? When Ivar told him to turn around and he did? Somewhere in between? It's impossible to say, but once he has lost control of the situation; things continues to escalate to heights he'd never considered possible. Heahmund has absolutely no idea how he's gone from wanting something to eat to settle his belly to being hunched over the kitchen table, trembling and gasping as a royal guard fucks him like he has all the time in the world and that there isn't an immediate danger of Heahmund's arms collapsing under their combined weight.  
He should've put a stop to it long before it went this far, but it is like a spell had been cast over him and now he wants the hurts-so-good to go on forever.

Heahmund is so lost that he actually snarls his objection when Ivar abruptly pulls out. However, he is quickly silenced by Ivar making him turn back around to face him before he then merely lifts Heahmund up to sit on the edge of the table and shoves Heahmund's legs apart to push back in like he has every right to.

Heahmund throws one hand back against the table to support himself, but the other arm he wraps around Ivar's broad shoulders in an automatic need due to the new and deeper angle.  
No wonder this is forbidden, a desolate corner of Heahmund's mind declares, as insane jolts of pleasure starts to throb through him when Ivar begins moving again, this time with harsh determination. A cup falls off the creaking table and shatters. Neither cares.  
It had been good at first, but now it is beyond anything Heahmund has ever felt. And still he wants more. He bucks against the other man, tries to lift his hips to get him even deeper, and when he finally finds his release; his entire vision goes white and he barely registers Ivar's answering growl.

"See?" Ivar later pants. "It's not so bad; taking orders. You should come with us."

Heahmund closes his eyes and doesn't answer. He can't. He's afraid of what words might emerge from his lips. He pushes the other man away, gets dressed and leaves with haste and with as much dignity as he can muster - to Ivar's smug entertainment. Heahmund doesn't find much sleep after that.

The next day Heahmund finds bruises on his hips he knows would match Ivar's fingers, feels his body object to his every move and he honestly can't decide whether he loathes these reminders or if they make him want to do it again. And again. Maybe leave some bruises of his own on Ivar's skin.

Time comes when he's forced to say his goodbyes to king Håkonsen. Heahmund can feel Ivar's heavy gaze resting on him and he firmly ignores the man. He tells himself it is because Ivar is far below his station in life and not because he's terrified of looking into those blue eyes and fall into his spell all over again.

When king Håkonsen finally leaves, his soldiers in tow, Heahmund watches them through the window and he recognizes Ivar by the broadness of his shoulders and he is deeply unsettled by how the mere sight of him makes the heat crawl up his neck again.

Ivar is dangerous, Heahmund knows that, in more ways than one. He can feel it in the marrow of his bones, like a bad memory just out of reach.  
Heahmund turns away from the window as the king and his soldier leaves, determined to pretend the last night never happened.

He fails.

\---

**Next: 1300 – The priest and the unrepentant sinner**


	3. 1300 – The priest and the unrepentant sinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There came a ship to Bergen and onboard the ship was a visitor who changed their lives forever...

[ ](https://imgbb.com/)

\---

**1300 – The priest and the unrepentant sinner**

The last person the people of the town have brought inside the church, Heahmund discovers as he sits down next to the bed, is a young, dark haired man with startlingly blue eyes. He's already deep in the grip of the illness, but his face is remarkably clear from its ugly touch. It's a handsome face, the kind that would make the girls swoon and boys want to be his friend. It's a face that should be filled with life, not pain.

Ever since the Black Death arrived on these shores, there has been pain everywhere.  
The church is filled up with many beds, lined up where the pews once were, and many of them occupied by very sick people praying to recover and waiting to die.

Heahmund wets the cloth he brought along with a bucket of water and gently wipes the sweat from the young man's brow.

"Who are you?" The man asks, his voice weak but his remarkable eyes are alert despite the pain.

"My name is Heahmund." Heahmund says. "I'm a priest." The only one left now. "I'm here to help you."  
The plague has claimed all the other priests and many others. There are few people left in general and even fewer who wants to go anywhere near someone sick.

The young man gives a slow blink, processing the information, before he speaks again. "I'm Ivar."

"Pleased to meet you, Ivar, "Heahmund says, a little amused at how strongly old traditions and social rules keep their grip on people, even amidst plagues, "though I wish it could have been under more pleasant circumstances."  
That earns him a faint smile from Ivar. “I thought all priests were either old or ugly. Are you sure you're a priest?”  
The compliment amuses Heahmund and he nods. “I'm sure.” His faith is all he has these days, even though he can feel it stretched to the limit with all the horror that surrounds him.

Talking drains the man so Heahmund is allowed to tend to him in silence for a little while, but not even the Black Death can prevent Ivar from finding his voice once more.  
"Do you believe in life after death, Heahmund?"

"Yes."

It is meant as a reassuring thing, but instead Ivar frowns thoughtfully at the notion. If anything, he seems troubled by it.  
"The thought worries me." Ivar eventually admits.

That brings Heahmund's actions to a pause and he straightens slightly to look at the pale face of the unfortunate man in the bed. "Why?"

"Because I'm not a good man." Ivar frowns again. "Bad men don't go to heaven."

Heahmund dips the cloth in the water and wrings it. "I'm finding it hard to believe you're that much of a bad man, Ivar. And the Lord forgives a repenting sinner, remember?"

Another smile can be seen on Ivar's face and he raises a mischievous eyebrow. "I'm not entirely sure I regret my sins, Heahmund." He speaks as if they are old friends. “They were worth it.”

Heahmund is not aware of the amused chuckle before it escapes his lips and he has to force himself to summon a stern look. "Considering the state you are in, Ivar, you shouldn't jest with such matters." He must not forget that he is also responsible for Ivar's soul, not just his physical well-being. He has to try to save him, in all ways.

Sighing, Ivar closes his eyes briefly, tired and feverish. When he opens his eyes again, Heahmund is briefly struck by the knowledge that he has actually never seen eyes this blue and is momentarily mesmerized by the sight.  
"Considering the state I am in, I doubt it makes a difference what I do, priest." Ivar tries for nonchalance and fails.

"Of course it makes a difference." Heahmund counters, leaning a little closer. "I've seen men recover from this illness, which means you could rise from this bed a better man. And if not, I should think it would be a wise thing to meet your creator with a repentant heart and pray for His mercy."

Ivar turns his frightfully blue gaze on to him. He's determined. "I've never asked for mercy throughout my entire life, Heahmund. I don't think I'm going to start now."

Heahmund believes him and a final part of his already weary heart breaks for this lost young man. It's clear that Ivar had once been a strong fighter, someone who had battled his way up in this world with smarts as well as muscles. He's been given the best of all aspects; looks, physical strength and a sharp mind, but now the illness is threatening to take it all away.

"You said you've seen people recover from this," Ivar says. "How many?"

Heahmund looks down at the cloth in his hands. "Two." And he has seen hundreds upon hundreds die.

"Lets hope God has decided to let two more live then." Ivar's hand is suddenly on his, gently wrapping his fingers around Heahmund's.

Heahmund is tired to the bone, but there is a wave of relief at the simple touch and the comfort it offers. He has been tending to the sick and dying for so long that he'd forgotten what it feels like to be handed hope in return. Heahmund smiles a little, curls his own fingers around Ivar's and finally meets the blue stare again.  
"Let's hope." Heahmund agrees.

Ivar smiles. It almost seems like his pain eases a little. 

And Heahmund finds himself hoping more strongly than he has for a long time.

The hope continues to grow and evolve as he spends more time by Ivar's side, washing the sweat of his skin, smiling at his horrible jokes and listening to him talking about his life and what he still wants to do. He even jokes(?) that he'll bring Heahmund with him the next time he goes traveling.

Heahmund is tired of this life, no, he's exhausted, worn down to the bone, his faith barely able to give him enough strength to get up in the mornings. Ivar is the first person who has made him feel anything but despair and resignation for months. And as people die around them, Heahmund realizes that he would go with him.  
He doesn't tell Ivar this, but the pale, dark haired, and ,oh so beautiful, man smiles at him like he already knows. 

The plague rages on as they talk and dream about the future. The Black Death can't go on forever, can it? There has to be a dawning of a new time eventually. 

They hope.

When that particular morning comes and Heahmund enters the church, he feels a strange chill in the air and an absence of something there even before he sees that Ivar is dead. 

Heahmund looks at the pale face, still beautiful in death, and sends his resigned gratitude to the Lord for at least giving him a peaceful death. As peaceful as one could ever get while ravaged by this illness. Though, the world seems even darker now that Ivar is gone.  
Heahmund allows himself one moment of feeling the sorrow, to shudder with grief and mourn what would now never be, then he begins his tasks as he has done so many times before.

Heahmund carefully washes Ivar's face and hands, tends to him, wraps him up and but also prays that God has allowed one unrepentant sinner into his kingdom, because he suspects heaven would be a lot more interesting with Ivar present.

Still, judging by the symptoms Heahmund has felt these last couple of days, he suspects it is not long before he too finds out what comes after death.

Maybe, if God is kind, Ivar will be waiting for him there. 

He hopes.

\---

**Next: 1400 – The adventurous youth and the nobleman's son**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think it would be sunshine and angry smut throughout the entire millenia, did you? You did? Oh dear...  
> *makes a run for it*


	4. 1400 – The adventurous youth and the nobleman's son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A young Ivar is bored out of his skull one lazy summer and then he met Heahmund...

[ ](https://imgbb.com/)

\---

**1400 – The adventurous youth and the nobleman's son**

It is summer and Ivar is bored out of his skull. He's been sent to the countryside with his cousins to be kept out of the discussions between his parents and he finds himself wishing he was back home and listening to them arguing instead of being surrounded by empty-minded nobility looking for things to entertain them.

It has been twelve years since Ivar's parents bundled up Ivar and his sister and fled to England in an effort to avoid the constant outbreaks of the plague. It seemed like a bit of a stupid move, in Ivar's opinion, as England is still being ravaged by the Black Death while Norway has not had a single outbreak for the last two years.  
And this lull in the sickness is what tempts his father to return home. He's heard there are countless abandoned farms just waiting for someone to move in and take over. Ivar's mother, on the other hand, doesn't want to risk it. She thinks the family will be safer in England. 

So here he is, trapped at some country mansion with a bunch of young men who knows nothing but to spend the days amusing themselves in silly ways. He quickly concluded that there isn't a single original thought between them, his cousins included, and while him being sent there isn't a punishment, it certainly feels like it.

That all ends when Heahmund arrives.

The son of a duke of somewhere, Ivar didn't really pay attention when they were talking about him before his arrival, Heahmund quickly becomes the center of Ivar's attention.  
His first impression of Heahmund is that the man is handsome enough, a little older than Ivar, well built and light on his feet, but Ivar quickly realizes something far more important; Heahmund is intelligent. He is sharp as a knife and has a mouth that works equally fast, both qualities quickly enthralling every soul at the mansion, including Ivar.

Ivar is thrilled when Heahmund takes note of him in turn, clearly recognizing another brilliant mind amidst the airheads, and he finds himself persuaded into all sorts of stunts simply because Heahmund asks him to join in. If Ivar is not there, Heahmund comes looking to include him.

Ivar has never been someone to take chances. He's not afraid of risks, oh no, but he always makes his calculations before he ventures out into something to make sure it's worth it. With Heahmund, that kind of logic goes out the window.  
And a warm feeling curls up in his belly when Heahmund declines the offer of company from a gaggle of girls of high birth to rather go riding with Ivar a lovely afternoon. When they ride out, Ivar glances over at Heahmund and flushes at the smile he finds there. (He can't stop himself from smiling back, though.) It's like they have the world to themselves.

"Have you ever hunted boar?" Heahmund asks him one early summer morning.  
Ivar shakes his head. "I haven't hunted much. I've never seen the point of hunting some defenseless animal for sport."  
His words makes Heahmund grin. "That's exactly why hunting boar is different. These creatures will kill you unless you get them first."

Figures, Ivar thinks, Heahmund is not someone who would go for something that isn't both a challenge and extremely dangerous. He suspects that's why Heahmund is fascinated by him.

"You have to try it." Heahmund says, nudging Ivar's shoulder with his own. "Will you come with me?"  
At that moment, under the summer sun, just the two of them and so much promise in Heahmund's gray eyes, Ivar realizes that he will go with him anywhere. "Yes."

The two of them leave for a hunting lodge that belongs to Heahmund's family.

Like Heahmund said, the boar does fight for its life and quite viciously. Ivar has a moment where he is certain that his horse will get gauged by the fierce beast and he'll fall to his death, but instead it ends with Heahmund's spear in the boar's neck and Ivar trembling with adrenaline.

The two return to the hunting lodge, laughing and filled with foolish pride at their achievement.

Ivar has never felt more alive. He leans against the wall in the library and forgets to breathe when Heahmund fences him in with his arms and gives that smile of his again.  
"I like you, Ivar." Heahmund says.

Ivar fights against the heat he can feel on his face. "That only means you have excellent taste."

Heahmund laughs, clearly delighted at the reply, and then he kisses him.

Once again Ivar finds that Heahmund turns something that has never interested him into something he craves with every part of his body.  
When Ivar kisses him back, Heahmund shudders, as if some tension leaves his body, and he then moves even closer and is welcomed into a tight embrace.  
This feels every bit as dangerous and exciting as the boar hunt. 

The kisses go from eager to hungry, hands go from searching to greedy and they end up on one of the beds with countless soft pelts to soften their fall.  
And fall they do. 

"I really do like you, Ivar."  
"I think I'm starting to like you too, Heahmund."

The days are spent laughing and chasing adrenaline thanks to whatever scheme Heahmund conjures up that morning. The nights are spent chasing pleasure between the sheets. Ivar learns his skills as a rider makes Heahmund breathless under him while Heahmund shows Ivar that his mouth is talented in more ways than merely persuading people to join him on his crazy ventures. 

After Heahmund nags Ivar into skinny dipping with him one late evening, Ivar complains and laughs the entire time until Heahmund drags him out of the water, wrestles him to the ground and seals up his words with kisses. It becomes one of Ivar's favorite memories.

There are tender moments, Heahmund resting his hand on Ivar's neck when they're reading, Ivar trailing his fingers along Heahmund's lips while he sleeps, and it feels like the summer will never end.

Everything changes on the day they decide to race back to the hunting lodge and Ivar decides to take short cut and make his horse jump over a hedge.

Heahmund screams his name and Ivar feels something go wrong mid-jump. He has a moment to feel afraid, then the ground comes up against him and everything turns black...

Pain finally prods Ivar awake and when he manages to open his eyes, he finds himself in a plush bed and his mother is sitting in a chair next to him, working a needle on some piece of fabric.  
She's relieved to the point of tears when she finds him awake.

Confusion gives way to horror for Ivar when she tells him what happened.

Jumping the hedge, the horse had been caught up in something and when Ivar fell off; the animal had landed on top of him. The doctors had said the chance that Ivar would ever wake up was minimal. He's been asleep for weeks.  
"What about Heahmund?" Ivar asks.

His mother avoids looking at him. "He's been here almost every day." She tries to smile and fails. "He's been very worried about you."  
Ivar knows the idiot probably thinks it is his fault. "I need to talk to him."

"There is one more thing..." His mother still won't look at him as she tells him.

Hours later someone knocks on the door. Ivar is still struggling to process what he heard earlier but he still feels a jolt of relief when he sees Heahmund enter the room. Heahmund looks pale, keeps his gaze on the floor, but it is his clothes that gains Ivar's attention.  
He's wearing a military uniform.

"Heahmund..." Ivar uses his hands to try to sit up straighter in bed. He's rewarded with sharp jolts of pain in his back and hisses.

Heahmund quickly moves over, helps him and flinches as every pained sound Ivar makes.

Once he's finally settled, Ivar reaches out and takes a hold of Heahmund's arm before he can withdraw again. "It wasn't your fault."

That finally makes Heahmund meet his gaze and there is boundless guilt, unshed tears and misery in the gray eyes. "Yes, it was."

"It was an accident." Ivar insists. He uses his other hand to gesticulate to Heahmund's clothing. "What's up with all this?"

Heahmund draws a deep breath, hesitating. "We've declared war on France. I'm going over to fight in the war."

Ivar stares. He has absolutely no doubt that this is because of what happened, because of him. "Are you serious?"

Heahmund nods and when Ivar numbly eases up on his grip on his arm, he gently pulls free and steps back and out of reach. "We're leaving tomorrow. I just wanted to say goodbye."  
Ivar doesn't know what to say. He feels numb where his body is not screaming with pain.

"I'm sorry." Heahmund whispers. He sounds completely devastated. "I'm so sorry..."

Ivar merely stares as Heahmund leaves, flees really, the room. Ivar wants to tell him not to go, beg him to stay, he fears that nothing good will come out of Heahmund leaving, but he can't find the words or this voice.

The doctors said it was very unlikely that Ivar would wake up after his accident, they were wrong.  
The doctors said the injury from the accident would prevent Ivar from ever walking again, they were right.

Chained to his chair, Ivar stares out the window and waits for Heahmund to come home. Time continues to pass.

Rumors are flying around, some claim Heahmund is dead while others say he's turned traitor and changed sides, but Ivar refuses to believe either.  
Heahmund can't die and he is far too noble to become a traitor.

Right?

\---

**Next: 1500 – The farmer and the traveling stranger**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cost of the dark magic is steep, but let's hope it will be worth it in the end, yes??


	5. 1500 – The farmer and the traveler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar has given up, but then a stranger arrives at his house

[ ](https://imgbb.com/)

\---

**1500 – The farmer and the traveler**

It has been two weeks since Ivar buried Gyda and almost a year since they buried their infant child. A part of him wants to give up, sees no reason to go on, but still Ivar gets up every morning and tends to the small farm. There is no chance he'll be able to harvest the corn by himself, but he still goes out and works the fields until he's too tired to feel the grief as keenly.

While some might say that his and Gyda's marriage was not a thing of great romance, Ivar happens to agree with them, it was still a relationship built on a lifelong friendship, respect and shared wishes for their future.  
The first years had passed without any children so when Gyda discovered she was pregnant, they had both been so very happy. That happiness only increased when a daughter was born. The happiness was allowed to live for five months, then it turned into devastating sorrow when their little girl got sick and never recovered.  
Neither did Gyda.

Now, alone on the farm, no neighbors for miles due to the plague, Ivar merely exists.

One sunny morning, he sees someone walking along the road passing by his farm and is even more surprised to see this dark-clothed person turn and head towards him.  
Pausing in his work, Ivar watches as the stranger approaches and soon comes to the conclusion that it is a black haired man with bright eyes under a dark hood.

"Morning." The stranger says, his voice carrying an unfamiliar accent. 

"Morning." Ivar says, still merely watching as the man pushes his hood back and reveals his face. He's a handsome man, that is clearly no farmer or any other lower class citizen.

"My name is Heahmund," the man says. "I'm on a journey and I think I may have wandered off my path quite a bit. I'm not rich, but may I trouble you for a roof over my head tonight?"

Ivar considers it. In the past there is no way he would have let a stranger into his house and near his family, but what does he have to risk now? There is nothing of value for the man to steal and Ivar includes his own life in that calculation. It's been a long while since he's had company.  
"I could use some help with the corn." Ivar eventually says. "In return, I can offer you food and a place to sleep."

Heahmund gives him a happily surprised smile. "I accept and I thank you for it." He steps closer. "What's your name?"

"Ivar." Ivar replies, then gestures towards the house. "You can put your things by the door. If you mean to stay, we have work to do."

Heahmund nods cheerfully and doesn't hesitate to place his bag and his cloak by the door before joining Ivar out on the field.

They work in silence for a long time. It's hot and the sun shows no mercy.  
Ivar is the first to shed his shirt, doesn't think much about it, but when Heahmund finally does the same; he can't help but to notice the scars on the man's well built torso.  
Heahmund... That's an English name, for sure. Far from home then. And Ivar wonders what had happened to give his visitor scars like that.

Whatever Heahmund's background is, he works well and they get more done than Ivar had dared to hope for. They don't talk much. When they do, the conversation covers mundane topics and flows surprisingly easily, and when they don't; it's a comfortable silence. By the time they decide to stop for the day, they've covered enough ground so that the crops might actually get harvested after all.

The house is still tidy and neat, Gyda always teased Ivar about his need to keep all things organized, and Heahmund carefully removes his dirty boots by the door before stepping inside.  
The Englishman clearly has manners. Good. The last thing Ivar needs is a dirty floor too.  
Ivar prepares the food and makes sure that Heahmund gets a more than generous portion for his impressive work in the field that day. Few men have been able to keep up with Ivar throughout the years, but he did.

"Thank you." Heahmund says as Ivar hands him his plate and starts eating before Ivar even has the chance to sit down. Clearly it has been a while since he's had a decent meal.  
Ivar merely picks at his own plate. His appetite abandoned him a long time ago.  
Coming up for air between shoveling food into his mouth, Heahmund then sends Ivar a curious look. "Something wrong?"

Ivar sighs and puts down the piece of bread he has been holding for the last minute. "I'm not hungry." He shoves his plate towards Heahmund. "You can have mine too, if you want."

Heahmund hesitates, then he pulls the plate next to his, but he chews a little slower and keeps his gaze on Ivar. "It will get better, you know."  
Ivar frowns at him, not understanding.  
"Life." Heahmund clarifies. "It will get better."

That brings a weary smile to Ivar's lips. " I'm tired, Heahmund." He sighs. "It feels like I've been doing this for a long time and it never changes, or ends. It just goes on and on, bringing loss and suffering and sorrow, over and over again."

Heahmund chews thoughtfully. "It's not easy, that's true, but there are good things too."

"Such as?"  
"Love."  
Ivar scoffs. "Love..." He shakes his head, bitterly amused. "There is no such thing."

"There is." Heahmund insists softly.

"I don't think so." Ivar gets up and turns to clean the kitchen nook before another attempt at sleep will inevitably fail. He's almost done with his self-imposed chores when he feels a light touch to his neck.

Surprised, Ivar realizes he hasn't heard Heahmund leave the table, yet there he stands next to him, his hand on Ivar's neck and something soft in his eyes.  
"Is this okay?" Heahmund asks.

Ivar hesitates. He realizes what the man offers and while everything Ivar has been taught and has lived by dictates that he should firmly decline, it is also strangely comforting to feel his touch. "I... don't know."

"Then let me know when it becomes too much." Heahmund compromises.

Ivar gives a helpless nod. There is something else about that touch... It's almost... familiar.

Heahmund lets gentle fingertips explore Ivar's face; his jawline, his lips, his eyebrows, his nose and chin... It's like a soothing spell is being woven around Ivar and he allows it.  
When Heahmund moves closer and replaces gentle fingertips with his lips, Ivar closes his eyes with a soft sigh, but he doesn't stop him.  
For the first time in a long time, he is as close to peace as he can get. It feels right.

How long does this go on? Ivar has no idea. Probably far too long. But he still lets Heahmund take his hand and quietly lead him towards the open door to the bedroom.  
He even allows this stranger to undress him, ease him into bed and join him.

It is strange to touch a body similar to his own, but it also feels right. It holds his curiosity and attention and prevents him from thinking too much until his blood is so heated that conscious thought is impossible.  
It's dark inside the bedroom, but they don't need to see when there is so much to sense instead. Hands touch, lips search and muscles shudder. Ivar hears Heahmund losing the battle against a soft moan against Ivar's neck and it is a sound he will never forget, even as he makes plenty of gasps and half-bitten off groans himself. It's warm, slick and so very good. It's never been this good before.

And when the lust has been sated, they still remain entangled and they merely listen to the sound of the other breathing.

Heahmund feels solid and reassuringly warm against him.  
Ivar is almost asleep when he hears the other man speak ever so softly.

"You can't give up, Ivar. That would mean everything will have been for nothing. You have to keep trying, keep fighting, even though I know you're tired now. Don't give up. You can't. Not you."

Ivar wonders how Heahmund can sound so sure? It's almost as if he knows something that Ivar doesn't. But sleep won't be postponed anymore and Ivar drifts off before he can ask Heahmund any questions. He dreams about witches and spells and blood.

The next morning, Heahmund is gone. Ivar wakes up and finds him vanished and he's not entirely surprised.  
The entire thing had been too unreal. In fact, maybe Heahmund had not been real at all?  
Despite how Ivar can see the work they'd done on the field and that he can still remember the taste of him on his tongue, Heahmund seems like something out of a dream. 

Ivar isn't an overly religious man, but his parents raised him well and he finds himself wondering if his guardian spirit had sensed his misery and despair and decided to do something about it?

His practical mind scoffs at the notion, but Ivar can't deny that he feels better than the day before. He feels... determined. He finally feels **awake** again.

Don't give up, Heahmund had told him.

Ivar decides to keep on fighting.

\---

**1600 – The captain and the brawler**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm, yeah, I know I said I would update mondays and thursdays, and don't worry that saturday updates might a regular thing, but I was bored and this was ready so.... surprise? Erm, anyways, hope you guys don't mind and I promise that the next chapter won't be as gloomy! ;)


	6. 1600 – The captain and the brawler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heahmund is the captain of a large merchant ship and there is a problematic new member of his crew who catches his attention...

[ ](https://imgbb.com/)

\---

**1600 – The captain and the brawler**

Usually Heahmund doesn't pay much attention to the new sailors, he's too busy focusing on his ship and the cargo, but there is something about this young man who joined their crew in Norway.

His name is said to be Ivar and Heahmund has never seen anyone with eyes that blue before.  
Ivar is in possession of a cherub face but he's also radiating a raw violence just begging for an excuse to be released and Heahmund is mesmerized by the combination. Of course, it doesn't hurt that the young man is built like a fighter, powerful arms and a broad chest, slim hips and strong legs, only a blind person would fail to notice that. Still, it is how every primitive instinct in Heahmund warns him of this man that makes Heahmund instantly drawn to Ivar like a moth to the fire.

Being the captain of the ship, Heahmund knows better than to actually approach Ivar outside of tasks he has for him, but he watches him as he interacts with the other sailors.  
Ivar doesn't make friends easily, but it doesn't seem to bother him. He appears to find more pleasure in antagonizing people than by gaining their friendship. 

They've been at sea for three days when the first fight breaks out.

Heahmund keeps quiet at first, observing as Ivar taunts Olav while they circle each other on deck, looking for an opening to attack, and there is no mistaking the gleam in the blue eyes as anything but delight.  
Ivar is a good fighter, no surprise there, he's probably been picking fights for most of his life, and Heahmund enjoys watching him move in an impossible mix of brute strength and unexpected agility. He only intervenes and puts a stop to the fight when Ivar draws a knife.

For a moment, it looks like Ivar is not going to obey his captain, but then he visibly forces himself to sheath the knife again and sends Heahmund a piercingly fake smile.

Heahmund can't quite decide whether he wants to fight Ivar or fuck him. Probably both.

In the days that follows, Ivar continues to be a troublemaker. If he's not busy with work, he's constantly picking fights with the others. He tends to win those fights.  
So far he respects Heahmund's authority though, even if there are times when those frightfully blue eyes are locked on his captain after en order to stop and Heahmund can see Ivar calculating whether to defy him or not. He suspects there will come a day when Ivar's anger will overcome his fragile self restraint and that will be an interesting day indeed. 

But, yes, so far, Ivar obeys. And that, Heahmund tries to tell himself, is the reason why he doesn't kick Ivar off the ship once they reach their port but allows him to stay on when he has dismissed other sailors for acting far less problematic.

His crew doesn't thank Heahmund for it. He doesn't care. He merely indulges himself with watching Ivar prowl around with that constant threat of violence in his every step and wonders how it would feel to touch him. 

Heahmund finds out eventually.

A storm hits their ship the next time they leave port for foreign shores. It's a bad one, bad enough that Heahmund worries the ship might not make it, and he struggles to stay on his feet on deck while strong wind and massive waves try to knock him over.

It's pure coincidence and luck that he sees Ivar lose his balance and he manages to grab his arm just as Ivar is dragged overboard with a wave.  
Ivar's heavy weight coming to an abrupt halt threatens to tear Heahmund's shoulder right out of the socket, but Heahmund merely lets out a pained grunt that goes unnoticed in the howling wind and he doesn't let go.

Ivar flails for a moment, eyes wide with fear, before he manages to reach up with his other hand and grab a hold of Heahmund as well. Together they manage to get him back up on deck and for a moment they crouch down together by the railing to catch their breaths and recover. Ivar is looking at Heahmund, there is lost confusion in the blue eyes, but others are calling out for help and Heahmund can't dwell on how young that makes Ivar appear.

The storm eases up after what feels like a small eternity and the ship does survive. So does the crew and the cargo.

Heahmund is resting in his cabin when there is a knock on his door. He gets up from his bed and walks over to stand by his desk, unwilling to appear weak in front of his crew. "Enter."

The door opens and Heahmund does not expect to see Ivar enter his cabin, but there the blue eyed monster is. He closes the door and walks over to Heahmund in a manner that reminds Heahmund of the big cats he saw on one of his journeys to the end of the world. Heahmund stands his ground though, even as Ivar comes to a halt right in front of him and pierces him with those eyes of his. 

Ivar tilts his head a little, curious. "You saved my life."  
"Yes."  
The blue eyes narrow a fraction. "Why?"

Heahmund frowns. "Because you are a part of my crew."

Ivar makes a clicking sound with his tongue and a sly, knowing smile crawls across his face. "I've seen you watching me."

It's pure willpower that prevents Heahmund from visibly reacting to being caught out like that. He raises his eyebrows in a quiet challenge. "And?"

Ivar's smile widens but that only makes him look even more dangerous. "You're not like the rest of the dull-witted creatures here, Captain."

That brings a wry laugh from Heahmund and his voice heavy with sarcastic cheer. "Careful, Ivar, or I might think you're actually starting to like me."

Ivar makes a thoughtful hum. "Maybe I am." And then he kisses Heahmund.

Ivar kisses like he fights; hard and without mercy.  
Heahmund is shoved back against the desk, partially due to being surprised into unbalance by the unexpected move and partially due to the sheer force Ivar is using.  
But it doesn't take long for Heahmund to start kissing him back, giving every bit as good as he got.

If Ivar wants a fight, he will give him one.

And it becomes a mess of push and pull, teeth and invasive hands, at one point Heahmund feels his lip split and bleed, but the hungry groan it brings forth from Ivar makes it worth it.  
Turns out, Ivar fucks like he fights as well and Heahmund drops any attempt at restraint.

They only barely make it to the bed, knocking over a chair and a painting off the wall on the way.

Afterward, Heahmund is worried the crew might've heard them, but Ivar merely laughs like the maniac he is. It doesn't stop Heahmund from reaching for him again.

It doesn't become a one time thing. They've had a taste of each others insanity now and they keep coming back for more over the weeks that follow.

Heahmund ties Ivar's hands to his bed and uses his mouth on him until he breaks.  
Ivar gets his revenge when he wraps his hands around Heahmund's throat while he fucks him into a release that would have left him howling if only he had any air in his lungs.

It turns out that Ivar is less inclined to pick fights with the other sailors once he's found a different outlet for his pent up energy and whenever Heahmund notes that Ivar is getting testy with the crew, he will drag him back to his cabin, and either bend him over his desk and fuck the attitude out of him or he'll throw Ivar on the bed and ride him until he can't even remember his own name.  
It works, not every time but a lot of the time, and it leaves Heahmund with an almost pleasant Ivar. 

Hell, one night Ivar even takes his time fucking Heahmund, drawing it out and touching him with something close to affection. That's possibly the most dangerous thing they've done so far.

Still, never knowing which Ivar he'll meet, the blue eyed monster or the clever and devious man, makes Heahmund hopelessly addicted to him. People can say what they want about Ivar's mental state, but he's never boring.

The ship is anchored up in Calais when Heahmund, working in his cabin, hears many voices shouting and footsteps on the deck above. He's even more confused when Ivar comes storming inside and is cursing angrily as he slams the door shut behind him.  
"What's going on?" Heahmund asks, getting up from his desk.

Ivar pauses and glances over at him with the look of a trapped wolf. "I didn't think they'd find me here, on this ship."

"Who?"

Ivar hesitates for a moment, then he sighs. "I may have stabbed this guy last year, who turned out to be not just a random idiot, but nobility." He clears his throat. "And, uh, related to the royal family."

Startled, Heahmund shakes his head. "Ivar... They'll hang you for that!"

Ivar's eyes narrow and the danger is back in every aspect of him as he looks at the door. He places his hand on the hilt of his knife. "Only if they catch me."

Heahmund quickly places his hand over his, hissing; "Don't be an idiot." Even Ivar can't defeat a group of armed soldiers. He ignores the annoyed glare Ivar sends him and considers their options. He finds none he likes, but he knows which one he has to choose. The voices are getting closer.  
Sighing, Heahmund straightens. "Listen, I will stall them. You're an excellent swimmer; climb out the window, jump in the ocean and you swim away. Then you run. Far away. Understand?"

Ivar stares at him. He hears what he's saying but he appears to struggle to understand. 

"Go." Heahmund nods towards the window. They have no time to waste. And he does not want to linger on the fact that he knows that this means goodbye.  
Maybe it is just wishful thinking, but Heahmund thinks he sees a flicker of pain in the blue eyes before Ivar yanks him in for a final and hard kiss.

Moments later, he makes sure to argue with the soldiers loud enough for them not to hear the splash of someone hitting the water. He has no doubt that Ivar will be okay.

Heahmund just find himself wishing that some day, maybe, hopefully, they'll meet again.

\---

**Next: 1700 – The wounded soldier and the enemy**


	7. 1700 – The wounded soldier and the enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wounded soldier finds himself at the mercy of the enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Great Northern War was a conflict in which a coalition led by the Tsardom of Russia successfully contested the supremacy of the Swedish Empire in Northern, Central and Eastern Europe. The initial leaders of the anti-Swedish alliance were Peter I of Russia, Frederick IV of Denmark–Norway and Augustus II the Strong of Saxony–Poland–Lithuania.

[ ](https://imgbb.com/)

\---

**1700 – The wounded soldier and the enemy**

It's snowing. Again.

That morning the field had been filled with noise; men and horses dying, bullets and screams, but now everything is quiet. Deathly quiet.   
Ivar is fairly certain he is the only living being left, surrounded by countless non-moving shapes, and he huddles a little closer to a dead horse to shield himself from the caress of the freezing breeze sliding across the field.

His wound hurts. The bullet has most likely shattered his knee beyond repair, but Ivar isn't worried. He knows he'll die of the cold or some infection long before a bad knee will be a problem.  
Closing his eyes, he allows himself a moment of despair.

He never wanted this. He never wanted fame or glory. Hell, no one in his troop wanted to be here. No one in his damn country wanted this war! But when the king of Denmark ordered something, no matter how foolish, Norway had to obey, and suddenly they were marching with Russia and her allies to challenge Sweden's young ruler. That unleashed a shitstorm and years and years of never ending war and death.  
Ivar has no idea who will eventually win the war itself, but his side had certainly suffered a crushing defeat in this battle, in the middle of some unknown wilderness near Sweden.

Time passes and the snow falls thicker, covering the battlefield as if to hide the horror under a pristine blanket of white.

Ivar begins to drift in and out of sleep, somewhere between pain and lethargy, when suddenly he hears movement. Instantly awake, he tries to sit up straighter, groans at the pain, and eagerly scans around for the source of the sound.  
Either it is someone who can help him or it is a bear or some other predator to put him out of his misery. Either option works for him.

He tenses up when he realizes he's staring at an enemy soldier standing a couple of meters away.  
Shit.

Ivar's fingers automatically twitches in an instinctive reaction to reach for his weapon, but he's too tired and exhausted to actually act.

The soldier is staring at him, not moving, clearly undecided as well. He's wearing an unfamiliar uniform, not one of theirs, and it's covered in dirt and blood. He's holding a rifle, pointed somewhere between the ground and Ivar.  
Finally the stranger states the obvious. "You're alive."

Ivar rolls his eyes. "If your fellow soldiers are all as clever as you, it's no wonder we lost."

That makes the man narrow his eyes in clear annoyance. But he doesn't lift the rifle or make any move to change the status of Ivar's condition. And now that Ivar has gotten a good look at him, what he can see through the falling snow, he concludes that this man, with dark hair and steel eyes, is injured as well. Not as badly as Ivar, but his body is leaning to one side and there are cuts in the cloth of his uniform.

"Are you going to kill me?" Ivar asks when he gets tired of waiting for the other man to act.

The stranger looks at him in silence for two heartbeats, then he does raise the rifle. 

Ivar tenses a little when the enemy soldier takes aim. His fingers dig into the ground and he waits for the shot. At least his leg won't hurt anymore.

That's when the stranger smirks and lowers the rifle again. He shrugs one shoulder. "Out of bullets."  
Now it's Ivar's eyes turn to narrow with displeasure. "Funny. Real funny."

The stranger snorts a laugh, but it is a weary sound without any real mirth. He then surprises Ivar once again by hobbling closer.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Ivar leans away to glare up at him once he's towering next to him. Did he intend to use the rifle to beat him to death instead? Did he have a knife? Was he planning to use his hands?  
Ivar's morbid guessing game is interrupted by the stranger sinking down to sit next to him with a pained groan. He stares at the enemy soldier, realizing the man has clearly lost his mind during the battle. "What... do you think you're doing?

"The way I see it, we're both stuck here," the stranger says, resting his head back against the dead horse behind them and he closes his eyes. "I doubt you're able to walk with that leg. I'm pretty beat up myself and I have no idea where the hell we are. It's snowing and neither of us are dressed for the cold. If you want to survive, we're going to have to work together."

Ivar cannot believe his own ears. Work together with the enemy? "You're insane." He snarls.  
The man merely shrugs again.   
"If you think I'm going to help you..." Ivar begins, but the stranger has the audacity to interrupt him.

"Heahmund. My name is Heahmund." He turns his head to glance over at Ivar and there is no trace of some evil plan in his weary face. It's actually a rather handsome face, under the dirt and the blood and the melting snow.

Ivar turns to stare firmly straight ahead. "Ivar."

Heahmund nods and turns to stare ahead as well. 

They sit in silence for a long time, merely watching the snow pile itself higher and higher while the temperatures dives lower and lower.   
Ivar isn't aware of how hard he's shivering until he realizes the clattering sound is his teeth. Annoyed he clenches his jaw tight, but he also becomes aware of how his leg is actually no longer hurting and that worries him. Reaching out, Ivar brushes some snow off his pants and prods at the torn fabric.

"That doesn't look good." Heahmund says.

"Thank you for your expert opinion." Ivar snipes. He prods the wound a little harder and is satisfied to feel a stab of pain and a trickle of blood. At least the leg isn't dead. As long as there is bleeding, there is hope. Ivar has seen what happens when the leg turns black on the battlefield.  
He's clearly worse off than he thought, because he doesn't really react to Heahmund moving until he's kneeling next to Ivar's ruined leg and eases it up from the snow.

The pain is incredible. Ivar chokes back a hurt sound and hisses instead; "What the hell?"

"We have to wrap this up or it'll kill you."

Ivar is stunned by both the pain and the words in equal measures. 'We'? There is a 'we' now? And why does Heahmund care whether Ivar lives or dies? He is so stumped by the insanity of the situation that Heahmund is allowed to get up, scout around, find some horse blankets and a belt, and kneel down again before Ivar really registers he's done so. The pain when Heahmund wraps one blanket around his shattered knee and tightens the belt around it is almost enough to make Ivar pass out, though.  
He is panting and shivering even worse than before when Heahmund shuffles up to sit down next to him again. 

In agony and now beyond exhausted, Ivar wants to scream at the damn man when he keeps shifting restlessly next to him, but the words dies on his lips when Heahmund spreads a second horse blanket to cover them both as he inches close enough for their shoulders to touch.

It is still freezing, but it is undeniably better.  
After a moment of silence, Ivar swallows his pride and quietly mutters; "Thank you."

"I just wanna survive the night and go home." Heahmund replies, equally quiet. He sounds as tired as Ivar feels and just as thrilled about being there too.  
"Yeah," Ivar says, watching the snow fall, "me too."

It continues to snow and they give up pretending to care about which army they belong to. They're too cold to care. Heahmund's arm ends up around Ivar's shoulders and Ivar leans against him, trying to ignore the cold and the agony in his leg. If Ivar closes his eyes, he can pretend that this was someone he knew and cared about; someone familiar. It's dangerously easy to pretend just that.  
"How did you end up here?" Ivar asks.

Heahmund's story is similar to his own; he wasn't given much of a choice. Someone decided they wanted a war and needed soldiers to die in it.  
They talk about their families, their homes and what they want to do in the future.

Ivar tries to convince himself he's just talking to pass the time, to prevent himself from falling asleep and freeze to death, but he can't help but to notice how easily the conversation flows and that Heahmund is actually quite funny when he wants to be.  
If he wasn't the enemy, Ivar decides that he could've liked Heahmund.

Heahmund who tucks the blanket around him, checks on his leg and ignores his own injuries. Heahmund, who is quite handsome underneath the dirt and blood.

When morning finally arrives, Ivar wakes up with his face mushed against Heahmund's chest and Heahmund holds him like he's the world's best heater. For some reason, that makes Ivar smile a little.  
That's when he hears voices.

Ivar sits up straight and that wakes Heahmund as well. They have just enough time to exchange a wide eyed look before a group of soldiers appear out of nowhere, dressed in winter clothing and aiming their rifles at them.  
Ivar has never been this happy to see Danish soldiers.

They quickly discover he's on their side and a man starts tending to Ivar's leg while Ivar tries to keep from passing out. He's relieved to see the leg is still red when the blanket comes off.  
Sharp voices catches Ivar's attention and he looks over just in time to see Heahmund on his knees and a soldier lifting his rifle to take aim.  
"Wait!" Ivar calls out, twitching so hard that the man tending to his leg sends him an annoyed glance. "Wait, don't shoot him!"

That earns him a lot of odd looks.

Ivar gulps down some air, wondering if he's caught some of that insanity that made Heahmund approach an enemy soldier and cuddle up with him for a night. "He saved my life. He's the one who fixed my leg up and brought me a blanket so I wouldn't freeze to death."

"He's the enemy." One Dane officer snarls.

Ivar glares back at him. "He saved my life." His fingers slowly crawls over to take a hold of his rifle.

For a tense moment, no one moves.   
Then, to Ivar's immense relief, the Dane waves a hand and orders Heahmund to get up and for the others to restrain him. They are bringing him with them.

It's three days later when Ivar meets Heahmund again; about to be lead out of the camp to be exchanged back to his own troops for some Danish captives.  
Heahmund pauses in front of him and holds Ivar's gaze while his captors wait. "Thank you."

"You saved my life. I saved yours. That makes us even." Ivar says, knowing he will not be allowed to show mercy if they were to meet again on the battlefield.

Heahmund nods, glancing down at the ground before meeting Ivar's gaze again. There is something in those gray eyes, something that makes Ivar forget how to breathe. When Heahmund smiles, Ivar smiles too. He fights against a sudden urge to reach out and touch that handsome face.

“Maybe in a different line, we'd meet under better circumstance?” Heahmund says.

Ivar nods. “I'd like that.”   
But for now, he has to watch them lead Heahmund away and feel like something precious is slipping out of his hands, all the time telling himself; maybe in a different life.

\---

**Next: 1800 – The fortunate son and the sailor**


	8. 1800 – The fortunate son and the sailor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It begins like something out of a fairytale...

[ ](https://imgbb.com/)

\---

**1800 – The fortunate son and the sailor**

It begins in a small coast town at the west coast, a cold spring morning, when they are loading timber from the farm that belongs to Ivar's father onto one of the boats. 

It is, Ivar decides, like something out of the stories his grandmother would tell him as a child when he notices one of the men working on the ship. This man is older than Ivar and clearly from the lower class in society, but they both have dark hair and bright eyes. Ivar's eyes are startlingly blue and this man's eyes are shining silver, and when their eyes meet; the look lingers and sizzles. Ivar can't look away. Neither can this other man.  
The sound of everything fades away. Ivar's entire world appears to have come to a halt.

The stranger lets a smile build up at a crawling pace and Ivar can't help himself from smiling back.

His heart is beating in his chest like crazy. He's never experienced anything like this before.  
It's like his soul is looking into a mirror.

When the loading of timber is finished and the crew is dismissed due to the ship not sailing until the next day, Ivar sees the man cast a final and lingering look his way before he saunters towards one of the narrow alleys between the boat houses.

Ivar follows, unable not to. He has to know. Who is this man? 

The stranger is waiting for him. He smiles, it is a genuine and pure thing, and doesn't hesitate to speak as Ivar walks towards him. "I'm Heahmund."

"Ivar." Ivar replies. He studies the man as he studies him in return, both equally intrigued by what they see, and finally he steps too close for decency but not near enough to actually touch. "Why did you bring me here?"

Heahmund does touch. He reaches out and gently brushes his fingers by Ivar's jawline while his gaze caresses Ivar's face. "Because you are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Ivar flushes. He's not used to compliments, especially not ones meant for blushing maidens with golden hair and rosy lips, but he can't prevent a pleasant curl in his belly even as he delivers a dry reply. "Everyone can appear good looking in a dark ally."

Heahmund merely smiles again. "Then walk with me in the light."

They walk, out of the ally, up a small gravel path that seems to go on forever through the forest and only pausing next to a small lake in the middle of nowhere.  
Ivar has no idea why he's doing this, it's so unlike him, but as they walk, he learns more about Heahmund than most of his so-called friends who he has known since he was a child. The man is from England, but has worked on ships since he was a mere boy and learned Norwegian many years ago. He tells Ivar everything he wants to know and somehow manages to tweak information out of Ivar in return. No one has been able to do that before and Ivar can't even get himself to mind.

Ivar has never been the most sociable of creatures. He comes from a rich family, but he's the youngest of five siblings and has always been quite content to linger in the background, out of sight, avoiding attention. It's easier to manipulate people that way. But with Heahmund, it's different. It's like having the sun shine down on you after a long winter. He doesn't have to pretend.  
  
Pausing by the lake, Heahmund looks up at the actual sun, sees that they have been talking for hours, and concludes that they better turn back to the town. The ship leaves early in the morning.  
  
Ivar feels a sharp stab of disappointment. 

"Will you wait for me?" Heahmund asks out of nowhere.

Ivar frowns confused. "What?"

"I'll come back here in one week." Heahmund says. "Will you wait for me so I can see you again?"

It's ludicrous. It's utterly absurd. It's insane.  
Ivar nods.

Heahmund's smile appear once more and Ivar is so enthralled by the sight that he doesn't really react to Heahmund gently cupping his face between his hands, but he feels it with everything in him when their lips meet in their first kiss.

One week later, Ivar stands by the waterfront and watches as the ship approaches. He feels nervous. Impatience tears at him and a strange worry gnaws at his mind. It's only when he sees Heahmund appear on deck with that brilliant smile of his that he feels truly alive once more.  
The second Heahmund is freed from duty, he steps on land and heads directly towards where Ivar is standing.

During his wait for Heahmund's return, Ivar had wondered if his mind had just conjured up everything, that maybe it wasn't as magical as he remembered it, but it hadn't been a dream.

Everything about Heahmund is as perfect as he remembers it and Heahmund seems equally happy to see him as well. Ivar has to reach out and touch his face, needs to know he's real and actually there. How can such a simple touch feel so meaningful?

Together, they talk and kiss and talk, then kiss some more, reveling in secrecy and isolation, it's best when it's just the two of them. Ivar is soon struggling to decide whether he should put a stop to this insanity or act of the constant thrum of...something in his blood.

Heahmund makes the decision for him when they end up on a pile of hay inside a barn during one of their secret meetings and he responds to Ivar's light tug on his shoulder mid-kiss by rolling on top of him.  
It's not the first time they've been breathless and aroused in the wake of their kisses growing more hungry, but now Ivar can 'feel' just how much Heahmund wants him right against his own hardness and he can't prevent a soft gasp from escaping from his lips.

Heahmund pauses, waiting for permission or orders to stop, but he is then the one to gasp when Ivar rolls his hips up against him. 

After that, it's all hungry mouths and restless hips and a glorious release.

Exhausted, sated, they still can't stop touching each other, with every caress a silent declaration of devotion.

_-So this is what it feels like to be happy_ , Ivar thinks. He holds Heahmund tighter.

A week later, when Heahmund has to leave again, Ivar is devastated but does his best to hide it.

"I'll come back. I promise." Heahmund swears against his lips, as reluctant to leave as Ivar is to see him go. "Nothing can keep me away from you."

The wait this time is close to three grueling weeks. At the end of those horrible weeks, Ivar is forced to attend an outdoor dance in town. He is sulking at the outskirts of the dance area when he notices a familiar figure standing amongst the trees on the other side.  
Ivar's heart jumps, his lips curve into a smile and his feet quickly guides him to the person he actually wants to be with.

They don't make it back to the barn this time. Almost, but not quite. They're too eager.  
Heahmund shoves Ivar against a tree and sinks to his knees with a wicked smile. "Let me show you what else I've learned at sea, other than fishing."

Ivar thumps his head back against the tree when Heahmund's hot, wet mouth claims his cock and it really doesn't take long before Heahmund has to restrain his hips with both of his hands and he then steals his release right out of him.

Ivar hasn't come this hard in his entire life. He's only standing thanks to the tree. But the bliss is quickly quelled by a nasty thought. He takes a hold of the front of Heahmund's shirt and pulls him back up on his feet, holds him close and glares. "And who else have you been showing that to?"

Heahmund's eyes are soft as he replies. "Since I met you, no one."

Relief floods Ivar. "Good." He reaches down to undo Heahmund's pants. "Keep it that way." He feels his own cock give a valiant twitch when he grips Heahmund's hardness and Heahmund lets out a deep-throated moan against Ivar's neck.  
They need to do more of this. A lot more of this, Ivar decides, feeling Heahmund shuddering against him, helplessly lost in Ivar's grip and euphoria racing towards him. He makes the prettiest sounds.

So as time goes by, they continue to take their walks, kiss, wring mind-numbingly good orgasms out of each other, but Ivar also discovers that Heahmund makes him laugh and Heahmund learns he can only sleep throughout the entire night when he has Ivar's powerful arms around him.

Ivar suspects what it is, this sensation he feels whenever Heahmund is around, and he's pretty sure Heahmund feels it too, but neither of them says it out loud.  
It's in their eyes, in the touch of their fingertips and in the taste of their kisses, but neither puts it into actual words.

They're in no hurry. They got time.

Then comes the day when Ivar is running down to the waterfront as quickly as humanly possible and he no longer suspects but **knows** he loves Heahmund. He loves him more than anything else in the world, with every part of every aspect of him, and he knows it is a feeling that will never go away.

This is a fact, even as they lift the body out of the rowboat and Ivar knows it is him before he's close enough to actually see Heahmund's face.

The storm the previous day had shattered no less than two ships and most of their crew had gone down with them. It was only when the fjord had calmed down and daylight allowed for wider searches that they were able to gather up all of the drowned bodies floating around.

Heahmund's lips are blue, his eyes are mercifully closed, and he is still so undeniably gone.

Approaching him with tears in his eyes and grief clawing at his soul, Ivar sinks to his knees next to Heahmund's body and feels his heart shatter.

Ivar screams.

The sound of raw agony echoes throughout the fjord.

\---

**Next: 1900 – The politician's son and the rebel**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look, I made myself sad this time...!


	9. 1900 – The politician's son and the rebel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heahmund starts to see the lure of independence...

[ ](https://imgbb.com/)

\---

**1900 – The politician's son and the rebel**

Heahmund first heard about them, these men meeting in secret places and plotting a rebellion, during discussions held in his father's office. Heahmund is not allowed out much, his mother's concern feels smothering at times, so he's forced to find his entertainment inside the house. 

His first sighting of these so-called rebels was a small group creating problems with some visiting Swedes at a marketplace as he and his sister were passing by.  
Heahmund doesn't see why it is so important that Norway breaks free of the Swedish king's rule, it probably won't make much of a difference as it is mostly self-governed anyways, at least that is what his father says, but he is deeply fascinated by the intense passion these men show while fighting for their cause.   
The only fighting Heahmund does is sabotaging his mother's constant efforts to see him married to some girl from one of the 'acceptable families' in the city. 

Over the months, Heahmund sees these rebels around town and there is one of them who catches his eye more than the others. This man is the one who appears to be clamoring the loudest for the most drastic measure; war, and Heahmund suspects he would actually be disappointed if there was no bloodshed.  
He's surprisingly young, younger than him, considering the amount of rage that lives inside his heart, this stranger with dark hair, startling blue eyes, and with arms and shoulders far more powerful than Heahmund has ever seen before. 

It's not difficult to uncover that the troublemaker's name is Ivar and while everything in Heahmund says he'd better stay away from him, that Ivar is dangerous; one night he sneaks out of the house to attend one of the secret meetings.

The people already there in the worn down warehouse eyes Heahmund suspiciously. He's sorely out of place; a pampered, pale, rich boy. However, he keeps his chin high and is determined to stay.

Finally Ivar and his cronies arrive and it doesn't take long before there is talk of taking up arms and resisting the Swedish army. All in the name of independence.  
Heahmund still doesn't care either way, but he is utterly mesmerized by the passion in those blue eyes.

Ever since he was a child, Heahmund has been sickly. He's prone to chest infections, leaving him bedridden with horrible coughs and fevers for months, and his parents have always taken great care to shield him from the world in all its gritty reality. If his mother had known where he was at the moment, he fears she would have become quite ill and distressed. This still doesn't prevent him from watching Ivar make his speeches about glory and honor and duty, and wonder what it would feel like to have such a strong conviction in something.

But there is one point, when Ivar snarls his final order to resist the invaders, when his blue eyes flash with rage and there is a cruelty to the sharpness of his teeth, where Heahmund forgets all about the battle for independence and feels a sharp twist of lust low in his belly.

When the talking is over and the meeting is winding down, Heahmund turns to slip out and head back home before his absence is discovered. He doesn't want his mother to worry.

Heahmund is only a couple of houses away from safety when a voice suddenly speaks from somewhere behind him.  
"Who are you?"

Heahmund doesn't have to turn around to know who that voice belongs to. After all, he heard him talk not too long ago. Tensing up, Heahmund stops and tries to sound calm when he replies. "I was just curious."

"About what?" Ivar's voice says, a little closer now. 

-You, Heahmund thinks. "About the cause," Heahmund says.

There is the sound of footsteps and Ivar comes up on his left side to circle him and stand in front of him. His keen eyes is searching Heahmund and it brings a heat to Heahmund's face. Eventually Ivar merely sticks his chin out a little and repeats; "So who are you?"

"Heahmund," Heahmund answers.   
"I've heard about you." Ivar sounds carefully neutral. "Or, I've heard about your father."  
"Most have." Heahmund shifts uncomfortably. "I have to get back home."

"They don't know you went out to attend to our meeting, do they?" Ivar's voice has a touch of mockery to it. "The good son, sneaking out to mingle with the lower classes."

Heahmund's eyes narrows. "I think I'll be going now."

This actually makes Ivar smile and his eyes warm up a little. "Relax. You're not the only one sneaking about to check out our meetings. I guess I should just be glad you're taking an interest."

"And these others," Heahmund says, still strangely upset, "do you stalk them in the shadows as well?"  
The smile doesn't waver on Ivar's face, but there is something in his blue eyes that Heahmund can't quite put his finger on. "No. Not everyone." Ivar moves a little closer. "Only the interesting ones."

For some reason, the tip of Heahmund's ears are burning. He clears his throat and shifts his weight uneasily. "I really do have to go..."

Ivar nods. "I understand." He keeps that unsettling stare of his on Heahmund. "The day after tomorrow, we're holding a new meeting. Down by the waterfront. Will you come?"  
Desperate to get away, Heahmund nods. He can feel the heat spreading to his face.  
"Good." Ivar says, stepping to the side to let him pass. "I will see you then. Heahmund."

Heahmund flees, but the sound of Ivar's voice saying his name follows him, even into his dreams.

The next day he firmly tells himself that he won't be going to the meeting. The day after, he's down by the waterfront and watches as some man makes a speech about Norway's once proud position amidst the northern lands. He's not as convincing as Ivar, but Heahmund decides he makes a better argument for a peaceful resolution at least.

"You came." Ivar's voice is suddenly in his ear.

Heahmund nearly chokes. He carefully glances over and sees Ivar standing next to him. A little too close. Heahmund has to clear his throat to make his voice work. "I said I would."

"That you did," Ivar says in a thoughtful voice, turning his gaze towards the man giving the speech, "but not everyone keeps their word."

They listen to what is being said for a while, Ivar only leaning in to comment on some of the things with his own personal opinion from time to time, and when it is over; Heahmund is actually a little sad. He still doesn't care all that much whether Norway became independent or not, but he is reluctant to go back home.  
He is reluctant to give up Ivar's company.

To his delightful surprise, Ivar is in no hurry either. He lingers and the two talk about everything from Ivar's great mission to where the best food is being served in the city. Ivar even walks with him when Heahmund has to go home and this time he has no trouble agreeing to attend the next meeting.

Over the weeks that follows, Heahmund would sneak out of the house on a regular basis and Ivar would be waiting for him. It was still the prospect of war that occupied most of Ivar's attention, but Heahmund managed to lure out more and more of the man behind the revolution.

One night, walking back after a meeting, they pause a couple of houses away from Heahmund's home, on the spot where the two of them had met for the first time, and Ivar says; "Can you sneak out tomorrow night?"

Heahmund frowns confused, failing to remember anyone mentioning that earlier. "There is a meeting tomorrow?"

Ivar holds his gaze. "No."

That means it will be just the two of them and no great cause to dominate the conversation. Heahmund's heart jumps and he's torn between joy and feeling more nervous than he's ever felt before. "Okay."

That first night, Ivar shows Heahmund sides of the city he's never seen before. They eat food his mother would have refused to give to the dogs and Heahmund have never tasted anything better. They stroll along the waterfront and talk. They listen to street musicians and playfully decline offers from the ladies of the night. Heahmund is depressingly sad when he has to go home.

After that, they don't really attend many meetings. Ivar still does his part for the cause, but mostly he and Heahmund will sneak off during the nights and wander the city alone.  
When Ivar manages to persuade Heahmund to join him on top of the church roof in the middle of a star-filled night, the climb is worth it. Not simply due to them getting the best possible view of the city, but that is when Ivar holds his gaze for a long time and then finally leans in to kiss him.  
For someone as eager for violence as Ivar, Heahmund is amazed at how gentle he can be.

More nights follow, as do more kisses, touches, a growing hunger...

When Heahmund finally, finally, gets to pull Ivar's shirt off and places his hands and mouth on that delicious body of his, so strong and powerful, he decides he will most definitely never tire of this.  
Ivar fumbles at Heahmund's pants and growls against his neck; "I want to... Let me..."  
And Heahmund has absolutely no problem letting him, voicing his enthusiastic consent to whatever Ivar wants. The feeling of Ivar inside him, that's a feeling Heahmund soon craves again and again.

A later night a breeze comes through the window, caressing and cooling down their naked, sweaty bodies as they catch their breaths after one particular enthusiastic round in Ivar's room. Feeling sated, sore and sleepy, Heahmund abruptly realizes he is perfectly content. He doesn't care what his family will say, this is where he wants to be for the rest of his life; by Ivar's side. This is where he belongs.  
He reaches out and takes Ivar's hand and Ivar curls his own fingers around his in response.

Back in his own bed, Heahmund wakes the next morning with a violent cough clawing at his chest and shortly after that; the fever sets in.

-

When Heahmund fails to appear, Ivar is instantly worried. When the absence continues, Ivar can't rest until he knows the reason for it. He gets as far as the stairs, then the door opens and a dark haired woman glares down at him.  
Ivar hesitates, recognizing her as Heahmund's mother. "I'm a friend of Heahmund. I was just wondering..."

"I know exactly who you are." There is freezing ice in her words and flames of hatred in her eyes. "You thought I didn't notice him sneaking out all that time? You think my boy does anything that I don't know of?" She visibly forces herself calm. "Your adventures has made him ill again. He's too fragile to be running around during the cold nights. He has a chest condition. The doctors didn't think he would make it beyond the age of five!"

Ivar flinches, but holds his ground. The thought of Heahmund being sick tears at him, but it being his fault makes it even worse. "I didn't know." He mutters, wavering between guilt and fierce dislike of this woman.

"Heahmund needs special care. I'm the one who has kept him alive for this long." The woman stares at Ivar like he's dirt. "If he dies, it's your fault."  
Ivar clenches his jaw, looks away.  
"If he survives," she continues, "I hope you realize this foolishness cannot go on. He'll just get sick again. It will kill him, in the end. You're not good for him. You don't have anything to offer my boy except a painful death. If you don't wish to see him dead, you have to leave him alone. Do you hear me?"

Ivar doesn't respond first, merely stares blankly at the neighboring house, then he draws a deep breath, looks back at her and says; "Tell him I said goodbye?" He can't have Heahmund's death on his conscience, he can't be the one who kills the **one** good thing he's ever had in his pathetic life, so he'll walk away. Ivar knows she's right; he's got nothing to offer Heahmund. Nothing of value. And, who knows, if the war does break out; maybe Ivar will get lucky and die in battle anyway. "I'll leave, but tell him I said goodbye." He doesn't want Heahmund to think he just left without a word. He deserves better than that. "Tell him goodbye and... that I'm sorry."

The woman gives him a curt nod.

Swallowing hard, Ivar turns and walks away. He doesn't look back, he doesn't hesitate, but he does leave the city in a hurry because he cannot be there and 'not' be with Heahmund. It hurts too much.

-

Heahmund slowly recovers, his mother constantly hovering by his side, but he keeps glancing over at the window, his portal to freedom. He can't wait to sneak out and meet Ivar again. It's the only thing that keeps him fighting this illness with everything he's got. He has to live so he can be with Ivar again.

His mother sees him staring at the window and she frowns, but she says nothing, knowing it will be better for Heahmund to think that the street-rat abandoned him. And maybe then she can make Heahmund see reason when it comes to the latest marriage prospect which includes the banker's daughter. He'll get over that horrid man and things will go back to normal.

She is wrong.

\---

**Next: 2000 – The physiotherapist and his patient**


	10. 2000 – The physiotherapist and his patient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heahmund ends up with the worst patient ever. If only Ivar wasn't so damn attractive...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The FINAL meeting! Which is why this chapter is so damn long... Hope y'all don't mind!  
> Now, NotWhoIAppearToBe, you were saying....?

[](https://imgbb.com/)   


\---

**2000 – The physiotherapist and his patient**

Heahmund has read about the accident, of course he has, it was on the front page of every paper and all over the internet, but it is still strange to enter the hospital room and see Ivar Ragnarson in the flesh. An actual living being. One handsome being, at that. It wasn't exactly fair that he was one of the richest people in the entire country, but he had to be gorgeous too? No wonder the paparazzi kept chasing him...

The accident had come dangerously close to killing Ivar. The breaks on his car had failed out of nowhere while he was driving home from a business meeting and it had spun out of control before coming to a violent stop against the guardrail. Instead of outright killing him, the incident had caused serious damage to Ivar's back. After several surgeries, it was now time to start physiotherapy and get him back on his feet to rebuild the strength there and prevent any muscular atrophy.

Heahmund introduces himself and starts talking a little bit about the work they were going to do together.  
Ivar's beautiful eyes narrows.

Within five minutes, Heahmund is certain about two things concerning Ivar. One, he is as good looking in real life as in the pictures splattered all around the internet. Two, he is going to be a complete and utter nightmare to deal with.  
People are often upset and traumatized after they've been through something as serious as Ivar has, but Heahmund suspects this is then further compromised by the fact that Ivar is, by nature, a jerk. 

It takes every ounce of Heahmund's patience not to snap when Ivar fights him on every single thing. At one point he is sorely tempted to just leave the foul-tempered man to his misery, but then his two younger brothers visits the next day and Heahmund changes his mind. 

He doesn't mean to listen in, it is accidental that he hears pieces of the conversation between Ivar and his brothers through the open door to his room, but Heahmund puts together enough of the information to conclude that Ivar is still reeling from his father's unexpected death a year ago, that his step-mother has taken over the family company and doing her best to block out the two younger brothers out now that Ivar isn't there to stop her. Heahmund knows of the whispers saying Ivar's family gets rich of shady dealings and he remembers reading about Ragnar's death, labeled as a random stabbing by a stranger, someone who later took his own life in police custody. While that doesn't excuse Ivar's shitty behavior, it certainly explains it.

When the brothers leave and Ivar picks up the remote control to send it flying at the TV, shattering the screen and causing a sour smell of burned plastic to spread throughout the hallways, Heahmund almost feels a little bad for him. (He still refuses the nurses to bring Ivar a new TV, though, and sneaks in an anger management pamphlet just to be petty.)

"No." There is no room for any debate in Ivar's voice or the ice in his glaring eyes.

Heahmund barely manages to refrain from grumbling out loud, barely. He isn't surprised by Ivar's negative attitude at every treatment Heahmund suggests anymore, but by God; he's tired of it. "Yes." He counters, deciding to be every bit as stubborn as the angel-faced devil in the hospital bed. "Unless you got a good reason we shouldn't?"

Ivar grits his teeth and actually looks away.

Water exercises are excellent when you don't want to strain an injured back and the hospital has its very own luxury pool perfect for this, both reasons enough for Heahmund to dictate that they were doing this whether Ivar wants to or not. He'll drag him along, flailing and screaming, if he has to.

Now, Heahmund is a man who prides himself in his self restraint, but there is a moment when he feels his brain lock up at the sight of Ivar next to the pool as he sulkily slides his robe off. He is still being wheeled around in the wheelchair -Ivar hate a lot of things but he **loathes** that wheelchair- however, there is no mistaking the fact that he must have loved going to the gym before the accident. His muscular torso and the strength of his arms has Heahmund stuck like a deer caught in headlights. He watches as the muscles dance under the smooth skin when the man moves.  
It takes Ivar glaring at him to snap him out of it.

And seconds later, Heahmund discovers why Ivar was so dead set against this idea.

"Why didn't you tell me you couldn't swim?" Heahmund asks once the flailing Ivar has latched on to him in the pool, holding on with all of his impressive strength. 

Coughing water and gulping for air, Ivar takes his time answering. "I never learned."

Typical Ivar, Heahmund decides. Almost getting himself killed, again, for the sake of pride. 

"I wasn't sure if that was why you suggested it." Ivar suddenly adds.

Heahmund frowns. Sure he's a little strict with the injured bastard, but that is because he is acting like such a little shit. He would never actually hurt him. "Why would I do such a thing?"

Ivar makes an effort to shrug, his face hidden next to Heahmund's neck. "A lot of money can make a lot of people do a lot of things."

It takes a moment for Heahmund to understand the implications and another nasty conclusion follows. "Ivar," Heahmund says carefully, "what happened to your car?"

"Exactly." Ivar eases up on his grip, sending a longing look towards the edge of the pool. "Can we get out of this death-trap now?"

Filing the shocking information for processing later, Heahmund makes himself focus on the work at hand. "No." He shifts his weight, feeling Ivar's fingers digging into his skin again, and softens his voice a little. "What we are going to do now is that you are going to trust me, as I don't need any money to be tempted to drown you the way you've been acting, and then we are going to start working on making you better. I'm going to get you back on your feet, Ivar. I just need you to work with me, ok?"

Ivar hesitates and Heahmund wishes he could see his face, but he does feel it when the grip eases up again and then Ivar nods.

This doesn't mean that Ivar turns into an angel overnight. Oh no. He's still a nightmare, but now he actually does the work, cursing and growling, instead of just snarling and throwing insults. Heahmund is in a constant state of wanting to strangle him and praise him at the same time.

-

Ivar's step-mother visits once. She's a beautiful woman with golden hair and cold eyes. She says all the right words of comfort and concern to Ivar, but Heahmund hears the contempt behind them.  
Looking in on Ivar before going home for the night, Heahmund has to ask; "Do you think your step-mother was behind the accident?"

Ivar is staring out the window, deceptively calm in his wheelchair. "No."

Feeling strangely relieved, Heahmund is about to get up and leave when Ivar turns to look directly into his eyes.

"I know she was behind it."

They work towards Ivar's recovery and it is slow and steady progress. There are moments of triumphant victory, when Ivar's genuine smile makes him look like the young man he is supposed to be, and the occasional step back, which ends in an explosion of rage and violence.  
Eventually Heahmund is the only one at the hospital who is not afraid of him.

Ivar does walk again. It hurts and he has a limp that Heahmund hopes will ease with time, but Heahmund will forever savor the open look of disbelief and gratitude in Ivar's face when he takes his first unaided steps. 

His own face shows nothing but disbelief a week later when he opens the door to his apartment and finds a rain-soaked Ivar standing there. Heahmund absently notes that Ivar is pale, clearly in pain, and he has a duffel bag hanging from his shoulder.

"I'm not going home as long as that bitch is there." Ivar states and then limps inside.

It takes longer than he'd care to admit for Heahmund to realize what had just happened and he quickly shuts the door and follows Ivar inside. "Seriously?" He finds Ivar already sitting on his sofa, slumped back and appearing like he'll slide off the furniture and disappear under the table at any moment, but also with a combative glare aimed right at Heahmund.  
"Ivar, you shouldn't even be out of the hospital."

"I'm fine." Ivar growls. (He's not, Heahmund knows.) "I needed to get out of there. Somewhere she can't reach me."

And he'd come to him? Heahmund is now more convinced than ever that Ivar is clinically insane. "You can't just... You need to go to the police. Tell them.”

“You honestly think she left any evidence?”  
“Ivar...”

Ivar leans forward, his elbows on his knees, and his eyes appear to be even more blue than ever. "I can't go back while she's there," he repeats, iron in every word.

Heahmund stares at him for a while, tempted to point out that there were endless other places for Ivar to invade with his horrid temper, what about his brothers, but in the end; he folds his arms across his chest and sends him a dry look in return. "You can have the sofa." He adds; "Just for a little while. Deal?"

Ivar leans back on the sofa again, allowing his strained body to relax. "I need a shower. I'm freezing my ass off."

Sighing, Heahmund gestures towards the bathroom. "Towels are on the left."

It comes as absolutely no surprise that Ivar is a horrible house guest. He takes complete control over the TV, makes no effort to help around the apartment and expects Heahmund to wait on him hand and foot. This had not been on Heahmund's school exams or in his job contract!

And just when Heahmund thought it couldn't get any worse, he comes home after a late shift at the hospital only discover that the shameless man had now even occupied Heahmund's bed! 

“The sofa is lumpy and I've got back injury, remember?” Ivar says as it was obvious, all snuggled up under Heahmund's sheets, comfortable and content. “No self-respecting physiotherapist would demand that a patient should sleep on that monstrosity.”

"There is nothing wrong with the sofa!" Heahmund seethes.

Ivar closes his eyes, ready to drift off towards dreamland. "Then you go sleep on it."

For a moment Heahmund sorely regrets not drowning Ivar when he had the chance, but then he decides that if Ivar wants a war; that's what he'll get. Heahmund disappears into the bathroom, gets ready for a good night's sleep, and then crawls into his bed without acknowledging the other man at all.

Ivar cracks open one eye when Heahmund slides under the covers next to him. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"Going to sleep." Heahmund replies. "In **my** bed. If you got a problem with that, the sofa is all yours."

Ivar scowls with both eyes now. And when the glare doesn't make Heahmund magically disappear, he turns his back on him. Bizarrely enough, it doesn't take long before Ivar is asleep.

It takes longer for Heahmund to fall asleep. He's too aware of Ivar's presence, the solid weight and heat he radiates, and maybe that is why when he wakes up the next morning; he finds himself spooning the hell out of him.  
Ivar acts annoyed at the incident, but Heahmund makes a note of that he made no effort to push Heahmund away and he only started complaining once Heahmund released him to get some coffee. Well, he takes notice of that, and the fact that Ivar has the most adorable sleepy face he's ever seen.

They share the bed from that night on, neither willing to give it up and both inching towards the other in their sleep. One evening, when Heahmund is up late, sitting in bed and reading an online article on his phone about some new treatment techniques, he automatically lifts his arm when Ivar rolls over and snuggles close in his sleep. Heahmund is momentarily puzzled at to how natural it feels to place it around him and also accept the possessive hold Ivar then has on him. It's like they just fit perfectly together. That thought alone is enough to scare gray hairs into existence.

-

Ivar has been living in his apartment for close to three weeks when Heahmund enters his office at the hospital and finds Ellen, Ivar's step-mother, sitting behind his desk, in his chair. To his credit, Heahmund only hesitates for a second before he enters the room and closes the door behind him. "Can I help you?"

Ellen leans back in her chair, watching him with a cool look. "You're not doing him any favors, you know. You are only enabling his behavior." 

Heahmund meets her gaze steadily, clamping down on the instinctive urge to tell her to get the hell out of his office. "He's a big boy. He can make his own choices." 

This makes Ellen scoff. "He left the hospital before the doctors said he could, he told no one, he didn't come home, and instead he shows up on 'your' doorstep. Does that seem like someone who is capable of making rational choices?" 

Heahmund's eyes narrow a little. "It sounds like someone who needs a safe place and doesn't think he'll find it with you. But I can assure you, he's safe with me." He glues a smile on his face. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do."

She stares at him a little longer, then clicks her tongue regretfully. "Such a shame. I liked you Heahmund."

The sentiment is not returned, but Heahmund merely clings to his fake smile and even gestures towards the door for her to hurry up and leave. She does.  
He doesn't tell Ivar about her visit. It wouldn't do any good, it would merely rile him up further.

It takes time before Ivar can make himself get behind the steering wheel of a car again. 

It doesn't happen often but Heahmund knows Ivar still has nightmares about the crash, and he's seen the scars along Ivar's spine after the surgeries, as well as the lines of pain that can appear around his eyes on bad days. When Heahmund comes home that day and needs to go out to get some groceries and Ivar says; "I'll drive." instead of merely letting Heahmund chauffeur him around as usual, it is a bit of surprise.  
Still, he hands Ivar the keys to his car and Heahmund gets in the passenger seat. 

Ivar gets in, puts the keys in the ignition, starts the car and places his hands on the wheel. That's where he stops. His face is suddenly ghostly pale, there is sweat shining on his upper lip and Heahmund can see the pulse pounding away under the skin on Ivar's neck. 

Heahmund reaches out and carefully places his hand over his. "It's not a failure, this is progress, You did good."  
Ivar glances over at him, eyes glassy with turmoil and with memories of fear and pain. "I can't."

Heahmund gently squeezes his hand. "You will. One day. For today, this is enough." And suddenly he knows that if Ellen ever tries to hurt Ivar again, or tries to take him away from him, he will snap her goddamn neck, personally, and without a moment of hesitation or regret.

Heahmund is man enough to admit that he's been attracted to Ivar from the very first second he entered the hospital room, but Ivar's personality has been a great tool for Heahmund to remember to be professional and not make a pass at his patient. How Ivar feels about him, now that's a mystery that Heahmund tries not to wonder too much about. It would complicate things even further.  
He should've known to trust Ivar to manage to complicate things anyway.

Moving in to Heahmund's apartment without an invite was bad enough, invading his bed was worse, but Heahmund nearly has a stroke one morning while he's in the middle of his usual shower and a naked Ivar merely saunters in to join him under the warm water.

"What the hell?" Heahmund sputters.

Ivar merely squeezes by him to grab the shampoo. "I don't have time to wait for you to finish lazing about in here. It's just practical."

Heahmund merely stares at him, his face, making damn sure to keep his stare on his face, for what feels like a small eternity, then he clenches his jaw and firmly steals the shampoo and pretends that he's perfectly fine with this arrangement. 

It doesn't get any easier the next time it happens or the times after that. Heahmund starts to realize that him starting up the shower has the same effect on Ivar as opening a tin of food to a cat.  
And if showering becomes one of the highlights of Heahmund's day, so what? No one can prove anything! He just makes damn sure to let Ivar know he only allows this out of the kindness of his heart and concern for Ivar's apparently very tight schedule.

But it is probably his hopeless attraction that makes Heahmund agree to join (watch over, as usual) Ivar when he proclaims to be bored and wants to go out one Friday night.

Ivar ends up drunk, his tolerance lowered due to his medication and time in the hospital. Heahmund is leaning against the bar they're at, amusing himself by watching Ivar make a complete idiot out of himself. He's currently in a fierce argument with some guy, one who is not half as drunk as Ivar, and Heahmund only frowns when things are getting a little too heated. 

He can't prevent the guy from punching Ivar, but it's a sloppy hit and Ivar only staggers back from it because he's drunk off his ass. Still, Heahmund places a calming hand on Ivar's shoulder, eases him away from the other guy, tells him to calm down, to take a deep breath, which Ivar does, and then Heahmund turns and rams his fist into the guy's face so hard he's out cold before he hits the floor.

Adrenaline is pumping and Heahmund is painfully aware of everyone staring at him, including Ivar. But where everyone else looks worried, Ivar's eyes are bright and he has a dazed smile on his face.  
Avoiding looking at anyone, Heahmund leads Ivar out of the bar and home and tries really hard not to think about why he'd gotten so angry and why it was so important to him to keep Ivar safe.

"You didn't have to do that. I can take care of myself." Ivar says when they're back at the apartment.

"I know." Heahmund replies, hanging up their jackets. "But you shouldn't get into fights. Your injury isn't fully healed, remember? Don't take any risks. I don't want my hard work to be in vain."

Ivar shuffles a little closer. His blue eyes softened by the alcohol. "I don't want your help," Ivar says, sounding lost for some reason. He reaches up and takes a careful hold of the collar on Heahmund's shirt, making him look into his eyes. "You hear me? I've been on my own all my life. My father taught me that. I don't need anyone to protect me."

Oh, but he does. Heahmund can barely breathe with the rabid urge to protect this idiot from his own stupid decisions and the people out to hurt him. "Ivar..."

"Shut up." Ivar orders, before leaning in and kissing him.

Heahmund can't prevent his hands from moving up and reverently cup Ivar's face between them as he kisses him back. It's surprisingly gentle. Ivar's lips are soft, his content sigh even softer, and even the touch of his tongue to Heahmund's is more of a question than a demand. The rise to something more hungry is a careful rise as well. It takes a long time from the first kiss to when Ivar uses his grip to more or less shove Heahmund against the wall, leaning against him, and Heahmund gives as good as he gets, but it never turns harsh, something Heahmund would've thought would be a given with someone like Ivar.  
Instead it feels like Ivar is completely starved for something gentle.

Heahmund is completely unprepared for when Ivar ends it by pushing himself away and there is pure fury in his eyes all of a sudden. 

"I can't..." Ivar begins, but he is too angry to finish the sentence. Fast as lightning, he picks up a piece of decoration and throws it at the mirror on the wall; shattering it with a startlingly loud bang.

"Ivar!" Heahmund grabs a hold of his wrist as Ivar reaches for something else to throw.

Ivar freezes, but then he slowly looks over at Heahmund with so much rage that it's a frightening sight. "Let go of me." He says in a deathly quiet voice that screams danger.

Heahmund lets go. He's neither stupid or suicidal.

Ivar glares at him for a couple of seconds more, but then the anger dissolves and that's when he stalks by Heahmund and storms out of the apartment.

Leaning back against the wall, trying to remember to breathe, Heahmund tries to decipher what the hell just happened. 

His thoughts are suddenly interrupted when he hears the screeching sound as a car desperately tries to break for something and a woman screams. Heahmund is running down the stairs, feeling sick with dread even before he sees Ivar lying in the middle of the street.  
Someone is yelling for someone to call an ambulance, but Heahmund can only register the amount of blood covering Ivar's face.

\---


	11. The Curse is broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time has run out and the curse is broken

[](https://imgbb.com/)   


\---

**2000 – The physiotherapist and his patient - Part 2**

It doesn't surprise Heahmund when he learns that Ivar had stalked out into the street without paying attention to traffic, merely expecting everything to give way to him as usual, but he's so relieved he almost throws up when he learns that Ivar's condition is not life threatening.

The relief then turns bitter when he hears the impact might have done what the former accident had failed to do; taken Ivar's ability to walk away from him.

The irony is not lost on him that they are back to the hospital where they met for the first time, but Heahmund braces himself for what will meet him when he's finally allowed to see him.  
He hears Ivar screaming long before he's anywhere near his room. His voice is filled with rage, there are also sounds of objects hitting the walls, and a small group of medical staff and security are gathered outside of his room; scared and not sure what to do.  
Heahmund ignores them and steps inside.

Ivar is sitting up in the bed. He has a cut on his left cheekbone and by his left temple, as well as a bruise by his jawline, but otherwise the most remarkable about his appearance is how pale he is with livid rage. The second Heahmund steps inside; Ivar instantly unleashes all his anger on him. He can't feel his legs, he's paralyzed, probably forever, he's a goddamn cripple!

While Ivar screams at him, curses him, verbally jabs at all the weak points he's learned from their time together that will hurt him, Heahmund merely walks over, manages to cradle his face between his hands, holds on even as Ivar tries to pull his hands away, waits for him to wear himself out and quiet down, then he says; "It's going to be okay."  
When he sees Ivar's eyes fill up with tears, Heahmund sits down and pulls him close, allowing him to hide against his chest so he won't see him crying. "It's going to be okay." He gently strokes a hand over his dark hair, holds him and keeps telling him; "Everything is going to be okay."

Usually they're very strict about visiting hours in the hospital, but everyone agrees that Heahmund can stay as long as he likes as long as he helps the nurses with the blue eyed monster. He has no problem with that.

In the middle of the night, Heahmund is stretched out on top of the hospital bed with an exhausted and heavily medicated Ivar is resting on top of his chest.

"What if I'll never walk again?" Ivar whispers when Heahmund thought he was already asleep.

Heahmund sighs softly, thoughtfully, and says; "If that is the case, we'll deal with it. Together."

Ivar squirms a little to glance up at his face, clearly scanning for the truth in the words, wanting to believe but struggling to do so. The fear of ending up in a wheelchair for the rest of his life makes Ivar look both young and horribly vulnerable in the nightlight, a strong contrast to how cruel and dangerous he could be at times.  
Heahmund holds his gaze and wills him to believe him. He won't abandon Ivar, no matter what.

And it is as if the thought finally makes its way through Ivar's thick skull.  
Ivar sinks down to rest on Heahmund's chest again and he carefully wraps an arm over Heahmund's stomach in a possessive grip that only Ivar could manage despite his injured state. It makes Heahmund feel a flicker of hope and despite common sense; flattered.

The next morning they wheel Ivar off for more tests and scans and after a long, nerve wrecking wait, the results come back; bruising and swelling but no lasting damage as far as they can tell. Ivar is so relieved he can barely breathe.

Heahmund tries to hide that he feels the exact same way. "Don't you 'ever' dare do something that stupid again, Ivar. I will kill you myself. Give me your word. Promise me."

Ivar actually exhales a faint laugh and nods, still too relieved to act like his normal self, so Heahmund exploits the moment to sit down on the bed and hug him again. It's probably the lovely sensation of Ivar's muscular arms going around him as well that prevents Heahmund from noticing Ivar's brothers standing in the doorway until several seconds have passed.

Where Ivar is dark haired with amazingly blue eyes, his brothers are both blond and their blue eyes seem pale compared to their older sibling's. And their eyes are now watching Heahmund with shameless fascination.  
"Who are you?" The youngest one asks.

Ivar releases Heahmund, but doesn't allow him to move too far away. "This is Heahmund," he says, as if that explains everything. And maybe it does, because the two blonds gives synchronized nods. The older is called Ove, the younger is Henry, and it takes Heahmund about one heartbeat to decide he likes them. A big part of that is how Ivar doesn't respond to their presence with his usual dislike, but rather with resigned affection.

Henry wants to know how the hell Ivar managed to end up in the hospital 'again', but Ove is more interested in talking about Ellen's latest schemes. Heahmund gets up to vacate the room and leave them to their family business, but Ivar takes a hold of his wrists and keeps him there.  
He's part of the family now, it seems. Again Heahmund is stupidly flattered.

While the injuries are not permanent, Ivar still has to spend several days in the hospital and Heahmund is actually a little nervous when he finally gets to bring him back to the apartment. For all the time they've spent together, they haven't touched on one important thing; the kiss.

Thinking back, Heahmund has more or less concluded that Ivar's violent reaction had been a result due to an extreme degree of commitment phobia, Ivar always does things to the extreme so no surprise there, but since his melt-down at the hospital; Ivar has repeatedly made efforts to include Heahmund in his life instead of cutting him out. Where does that leave them? Friends? More?

He gets his answer that very night when he crawls into bed and Ivar barely waits for him to settle against the pillows before he moves up to straddle Heahmund.

A little breathless, very surprised, Heahmund can't stop his body from reacting and heating up. "Presumptuous of you, Ivar." He puts his hands on Ivar's thighs as he speaks and the other man smirks. “The polite thing would be a dinner and a movie first.”

"When I see something I want, I go after it." Ivar shifts his weight a little, just to torment sensitive parts and underline how quickly Heahmund's blood is rushing south for the winter at the sensation. 

Swallowing hard, trying to hold on to his dignity, Heahmund slides his hands up to Ivar's hips and pulls him down into a grind and a shudder, not one to give up without a fight. "You're such a control freak, Ivar."

"I just like for everyone to know their place." Ivar rolls his hips to get back at him, this is the most thrilling fight Heahmund has ever been in. Ivar leans down to give him a slow, sensual kiss, ending it with a stinging bite to Heahmund's lower lip. "You're mine now, Heahmund."

The statement, brought with unapologetic greedy possessiveness, it makes Heahmund both shudder with delight and it hits him with a fierce desire to flip them over to show Ivar just who owned who, if only there was no back-injury to consider. In the end, he ends up tightening his grip on Ivar's hips and meets his gaze with no room for debate. "That works both ways, Ivar." There is a warning in those words. Heahmund is nobody's pet and he won't tolerate sharing or lies.

Ivar's lips curl in a positively evil smile. "Do you think you can handle that, Heahmund?"

Knowing he's being baited and yet unable to resist, Heahmund lifts one hand to Ivar's neck and pulls him into a harsh and equally possessive kiss. "I can handle _everything_ you got." He growls.

The bold words riles Ivar up to the point where Heahmund has to calm things down before they do end up agitating Ivar's back during the mad chase for release that follows. He promises Ivar that they will fuck every way and sideways once Ivar is fully healed, but for now they have to show a little restraint and not indulge properly. It doesn't prevent Heahmund from voicing his pleasure out loud later on, though, while Ivar holds him down with sadistic glee and shows no mercy with his hands and mouth.

So they end up with hickeys, teethmarks and bruises, but no lasting injuries. At least, Heahmund hopes the soreness in his body is only temporary. (But considering how intense this round had been, the thought of what Ivar will be able to do to him once he's 'not' holding back makes Heahmund all flustered and lust curls up with anticipation in his belly.)

The following night, unbeknownst to them, they both share the same dream. There is a woman, an old, ugly crone, and her voice cuts through the darkness that surrounds her. "One millennium," she says, and a fire suddenly lights up in the dark, "one millennium where you are bound together." Above the fire, a small bag is now dripping blood. "Be free." And the bag bursts.

There is a rapid flash of countless dreams, it has to be dreams; where a young Ivar can't forget the taste of Heahmund's kiss while pushed up against the side of a boat, where a hirdsman can't enter the kitchen of his house without flushing at the memory of a certain royal guard, a priest prays not for forgiveness but to see someone again, a cripple dreams about setting sail for France to find the man who has gone missing, a farmer abandons his farm and goes hunting for a mysterious stranger with scars on his body, a ship's captain stares at the sea and curses fate with bitter resentment, two soldiers plans to meet after the war with hope in their eyes instead of rifles in their hands, a heartbroken youth never loves again in his lifetime as he lingers by a grave, and a nobleman's son travels and searches desperately for the one who disappeared...

Heahmund opens his eyes with a startled gasp, but he doesn't get any time to think about the strange dream because he hears Ivar is awake and breathing uneasily too, and instantly concern floods him. "Ivar?"

Ivar glances over at him, blue eyes still dazed from sleep but filled with unease. "I had a dream..." He turns over on his side to look at Heahmund properly. A question keeps echoing inside his head, a question he needs to ask, because the echo sounds like his own voice. "I can trust you, right? You're the one?"

"I'm the one, Ivar." Heahmund confirms quietly, turning over to face him as well. "You can trust me." The words come natural, as if he's said them before and knows how they feel in his mouth.

Ivar still doesn't look convinced. "People are fickle. They promise you everything, then they turn on you. Betray you. They leave." Why does it feel like he's lost him before? He hasn't, not really, right?

Heahmund reaches out and gently touches Ivar's face. "You can trust me." And this time, in this life, he means it. He's done running from what he wants. 

"But if something happens," Ivar pushes on, "would you find me again? Would you come looking for me? Even if you are free not to?" 

Heahmund doesn't hesitate. "Always.” As crazy as Ivar drives him sometimes, he just can't picture life without him anymore. There would forever be something missing and he'd never be content. It's strangely freeing to admit it to himself, at least. He knows he shouldn't, they are like fire and oil, but he doesn't care. If they burn, they'll burn together, and hopefully they'll take the world with them.

Ivar takes his hand in his, braids their fingers, seals a deal between hearts, a much stronger spell than any dark magic. "I don't know why, but it feels like we've spent a long time to finally get here."

Heahmund smiles a little, he feels the exact same thing, and he clutches Ivar's hand. "Then let's make it worth it."

It's finally their time now, and heaven help anyone who tries to split them apart.

-

Whatever shady dealings Ivar dabbles in with his business, some pain and a limp doesn't prevent him from going back to it and Heahmund now finds his workdays filled with a lot less troublesome patients than the man he's currently sharing his apartment and bed with.

Colleagues and other associates tries to give Heahmund delicate hints of their confusion at his choice of partner, Ivar frightens the hell of them, and Heahmund feels a twisted pleasure at their disapproval. He's spent most of his life dancing to his parents tune, obsessed with what was acceptable or not, but not anymore. First he decided to become a physiotherapist instead of a surgeon, to his parents despair, and now he has found someone he can finally be himself with.

Heahmund is even sick enough to enjoy some of the things Ivar does that annoys him because it usually ends up in either amazing angry sex or bone melting make-up sex, and that is addition to the regular addictive sex that has him voicing his pleasure until his throat hurts.

But mind blowing orgasms aside, Ivar is also the only one who sees through Heahmund's bullshit, calls him on it, challenges him, pushes him to become even better, either by being a pain or touching him with a softness no one would believe Ivar capable of.  
(Yes, Ivar even has his soft sides. Heahmund suspects he might be the only one allowed to experience them.)

One early morning, Heahmund prepares to leave for the hospital and shuffles around in the kitchen while Ivar is still semi-asleep where he's hunched over his breakfast by the kitchen table.  
“And don't forget to do your exercises.” Heahmund admonishes, putting the cap back on the bottle of organic orange juice and places it back in the fridge. “You can't keep skipping them.”

Ivar straightens a little. “I don't skip them.” 

Heahmund smiles a little, careful not to let Ivar see that, before sending him a dry look and walking over to him. “Liar.” He knows only too well that Ivar's voice gets noticeably high-pitched when he lies. “That limp of yours will stick around for much longer unless you do your exercises. And you'll be in a lot less pain too if you just follow the schedule.” He places two painkillers on the table.

Ivar stares up at him, suspicious and annoyed. “How did you...?” He cuts himself off and clears his throat. “I swear, you're a witch or something.”

Heahmund can't hide the amused smile this time. “Take the pills. Do the damn exercises.” He leans down and places a quick kiss by Ivar's temple, harsh enough for his stubble to prickle at the sensitive skin and yet soft enough to convey their brand of affection.  
He also doesn't tell Ivar it's pretty easy to see when he's pain; the dullness of his eyes, the tense way he holds his body and the tightness of his lips. It is far more entertaining this way.

Leaving the apartment, heading for his car in the underground garage, Heahmund never makes it to the hospital. In the garage, someone puts a bag over his head, pulls at his arms, and while Heahmund fights, he finds himself quickly overpowered.  
A sharp pain in his arm is the last thing he remembers before slowly waking up to finding himself handcuffed to a chair in some dusty, old office he's never been in before. The bag over his head is gone. 

Heahmund slowly lifts his head, whatever drugs they gave him are still making him groggy, but someone talking gains his attention and he finds Ellen sitting behind a desk in front of him.  
She's speaking to a laptop, radiating lazy confidence and superiority. 

Heahmund frowns, confused, but is then sidetracked as he realizes someone is also standing next to him. He turns his head and glances up; finding a tall, blond man, who keeps his eyes on Ellen and appears utterly unconcerned with the fact that Heahmund is awake.

“Alive and unharmed, as promised.” Ellen says, turning the laptop to face Heahmund.

Glancing back at the desk, Heahmund is surprised to see Ivar looking back at him from the laptop screen.  
For whatever reason, Ellen had ordered someone to kidnap Heahmund, bring him to this shitty place and then she called Ivar up on her computer to... what?

Heahmund has seen Ivar angry, furious, and he knows that if they could find some way to tap into that energy they could power the entire world on his anger alone. However, the fury he sees burning in Ivar's eyes right now, it's far more powerful and dangerous than he's ever seen. This **rage** would burn everything and everyone to cinder.

“But if you keep refusing to sign the papers,” Ellen says, giving a signal to the blond next to Heahmund, “he won't stay that way.”

Adrenaline washes away a lot of the residual effect from the drugs when the blond suddenly has a knife in his hand and cuts off one button after another on Heahmund's shirt, pulling it open and placing the very sharp blade to his skin.

Heahmund can see Ivar clenching his jaw so hard it must hurt.

Keeping his eyes on the screen, on Ivar, Heahmund braces himself against the pain as the blade draws blood. He doesn't make a single sound. Blood trickles down his chest, but he knows the cut, drawn along his collarbone, is probably quite shallow, meant to shock, and he won't give them the satisfaction of hearing him in pain despite the sharp hurt that follows.

“In fact,” Ellen continues, “if you don't sign, we're going to have to send him back to you...”  
The knife moves up to press up under Heahmund's right ear.  
“...Piece by piece.” Ellen finishes.

The pressure increases and a drop of blood runs down the side of Heahmund's neck, but he keeps his eyes firmly on Ivar and his mouth shut. It takes a hell of lot of willpower, but Heahmund remains silent.

“I don't trust you.” Ivar finally says, his voice strained. “If I sign it, you could kill him anyway.” He is struggling to remain calm. “We'll meet. Neutral ground. You bring him, I'll sign the papers.”

Ellen turns the laptop back to facing her and she gives him her lovely smile. “I'll text you the location.” She closes the laptop before Ivar can reply.

The blond next to Heahmund steps forward, frowning and clearly not pleased. “Was that wise? What if he tries something?”

Ellen shakes her head. She looks over at Heahmund with complete confidence. “He won't risk it.”

“Why not?” The blond insists.

Raising an eyebrow, Ellen smiles a little. “Because the psychotic little shit actually loves him.”

\---

**Next: Part 3**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, erm, yeah, this last chapter kinda grew beyond my control, so instead of 11, I regret to inform you that we will be ending up on 12!


	12. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The curse is broken and things come to an end

  
[ ](https://imgbb.com/)

\---

**2000 – The physiotherapist and his patient - Part 3**

They drug him again. The blond man, Heahmund hears Ellen refer to him as Bjørn, crouches down and slips the needle into Heahmund's arm. Though Heahmund's instinct is to try to fight, he's chained to the chair and he knows it would be pointless, so he keeps still, let's them drug him and succumbs to the darkness that follows.

He is later brought back to his senses with a harsh slap to his face.

Disoriented, Heahmund shakes off the sting and he tries to will his brain into working. He quickly realizes that he's still in handcuffs, but he's on a different chair, in a different room – it looks more like a warehouse – and once he manages to blink the fog from his eyes; he sees Ivar.

Ivar is standing a small distance away, behind him stands Ove and Henry, and behind them are some other unknown men. Ivar's eyes are flaring with raging fury.

Heahmund absently notes that while Ivar looks ready to tear people apart with nothing but his hands and teeth, he's surprised to see real anger also simmering in Ove and Henry's eyes.  
Heahmund meets the anger with a calm gaze of his own, tries to convey that he's fine, and vaguely notes the sound of several presences next to and behind himself.

“Let us not waste time,” Ellen says, somewhere to the left of Heahmund, “just sign the papers, Ivar, and let's be done with this. I get my company, you get your precious toy back.”

Frowning, Heahmund finally realizes the point of this stupid plot. (He blames the drugs they keep giving him for slowing his brain down.) They have kidnapped Heahmund, using him as a hostage, threatening to kill him, to make Ivar sign over his company to his step-mother.

Oh hell no.

Heahmund holds Ivar's stare, forces him to pay all of his attention to him, then he slowly shakes his head.  
-Don't you dare, he thinks. -Don't you dare give up everything and let her win because of me. You **can't** let her win after everything she's done.

The corner of Ivar's mouth tug at a faint, almost resigned, smile, and Heahmund realizes he doesn't intend to fight Ellen. He's going to sign.

Angry, Heahmund squirms a little on the chair, only going still when Bjørn's massive hand comes down on his shoulder in a warning gesture that threatens to leave bruises. “Ivar...” Heahmund growls, ignoring how Bjørn's fingers tighten even more. “Ivar, don't you...”  
He doesn't get any further as Bjørn brings his other hand into the fray and it places a knife to his throat.

Ivar snaps. “Enough.” He then pulls out some papers from a pocket inside his jacket. “I have them here. Signed.” Ivar hands them over to one of his thugs and the man walks over to hand them to Ellen for inspection. 

A moment passes, with Ellen looking at the papers and Heahmund glaring at Ivar, then she steps up next to Heahmund and gives her step-son a radiant smile.  
“See? That wasn't so hard, was it, Ivar? I knew you would see reason, eventually.” She glances briefly at Heahmund before focusing on Ivar again. “And you'll see I keep my word too.”

The knife disappears and Bjørn unlocks Heahmund's handcuffs as well, before the fading sound of footsteps reveals his captors leaving.

The drugs still makes Heahmund's body feel like it is made out of lead, so he remains seated and glaring as Ivar and his brothers approach.  
Ivar stands, looking down at him with eyes even Heahmund can't read, while Henry crouches down next to Heahmund and prods lightly at the cut along his collarbone. “It's stopped bleeding, at least.”

“Not if you keep doing that.” Heahmund points out drily.

“Let's just get you home.” Ivar says, gently pulling Heahmund's shirt closed again, before Ove and Henry take a hold of Heahmund's arms and they pull him up on his feet. Feet, who simply refuse to carry him.  
Having to hang on Ove's shoulder is somewhat embarrassing, but Heahmund allows the drugs to lull him into not caring. He doesn't even react to the small group of huge, black SUVs waiting outside what is indeed a warehouse, merely allows Ivar and the others to bundle him into one of the cars and then he drowses away the time it takes to drive home.

They have to help him up into the apartment, but once Heahmund is safely placed on a chair in the kitchen, Ivar instantly orders both of his brothers out, talking quietly and angrily, before returning to the kitchen with a small first aid kit.  
His limp is worse, Heahmund notes. Strangely enough that upsets him more than his own wound.  
Ivar gently removes Heahmund's shirt and starts to tend to the cut along his collarbone.

“Will it need stitches?” Heahmund asks, only now realizing just how much he's bled.

Ivar shakes his head, eyes on his work. “It's just superficial,” he says, confirming Heahmund's original diagnosis, “so strips will do the job.”

Another muffled part of Heahmund's brain points out that Ivar seems awfully familiar with injuries.  
“You shouldn't have done it, you know.” Heahmund has to say it.

Ivar frowns, done cleaning the wound and now adding strips to close it. “They would have killed you.”

Heahmund scoffs. “You can't let people like that win, Ivar.”  
Adding a final strip and gently patting his fingers along the wound, Ivar sighs. He moves up and checks the cut by Heahmund's ear, but all it needs is a little cleaning, no strips.  
Heahmund reaches up and takes a hold of one of Ivar's hands, making him look at him. “Ivar...”

“Other than the obvious, they didn't hurt you?” Ivar asks, cutting him off.

Heahmund releases him and shakes his head. “I'm fine. Just... tired.” He hates how he can't shake the groggy feeling. “I think I need a nap.” 

Ivar takes a hold of his arm. “Come. I'll help you.”  
Getting up on his feet is exhausting and Heahmund leans heavily on Ivar, knowing it must be painful to Ivar and his back, but unable not to. Neither of them would be served with Heahmund falling flat on his face either.

They enter the bedroom and Heahmund crawls into bed. He is pleasantly surprised by Ivar joining him and Heahmund doesn't hesitate to curl up to him, using his impressive chest as a pillow and finding comfort in the muscular arm snaking around him in its usual possessive hold. Maybe a little more possessive today. Protective. Good. In his reduced state, Heahmund feels safer like this.  
“I'm going to sleep now,” Heahmund mumbles, eyes already closing, “but when I wake up, we're going to have a serious conversation about this.”

“You sound like an old man.” Ivar replies.

“Dealing with your bullshit ages me.” Heahmund counters, slurring his words slightly as he drifts off.

“Fuck you.” Ivar says, clearly smiling around the words.

Heahmund merely grunts and then he's asleep.

When Heahmund wakes up again, it's to Ivar speaking on the phone in a low voice and his fingers absently brushing up and down Heahmund's back. He waits for Ivar to finish the call before he makes a grumbling sound and announces his awakened state by rubbing his face against Ivar's chest.

“Sorry,” Ivar says, moving his hand up to slide his fingers through Heahmund's hair, “I didn't mean to wake you.”

“How long...?” Heahmund mumbles into Ivar's chest.  
“Almost three hours.”  
Forcing himself awake, Heahmund frees himself from Ivar with great reluctance and sits up. He still feels a little tired, but his mind is clear and his body is functioning normally again. The cut barely stings. “Who was on the phone?”

Ivar shakes his head. “Don't worry about it.”

Heahmund is instantly annoyed. His voice turns sharp. “Who was on the phone, Ivar?”

Realizing he is not going to be able to avoid having to give an answer, Ivar sighs. “Ove. He's still a little... upset.”

Heahmund rubs his eyes. He doesn't blame Ove for being pissed off, the one next to Ivar who has had most to do with this company of theirs, but Heahmund doesn't like how okay Ivar is with losing everything. “I'm going to take a shower.” He doesn't need to look to know that Ivar perks up and he feels a little bad for adding; “Could you fix us something to eat while I get cleaned up?”  
Ivar deflates and nods. “Sure.”  
Getting up on his feet, a little wobbly but not dangerously so, Heahmund heads for the bathroom and doesn't look back at Ivar. If he does, he'll invite him along, and he wants him focused for the talk they are going to have after his shower.

Clean, dressed and feeling a lot more like himself, Heahmund smells food as he enters the kitchen.

Ivar is getting two plates from the cabinet when he glances over his shoulder to greet Heahmund. “Everything ok?”

Not really, but physically yes, so Heahmund replies; “I'm fine.” He hesitates by the table. “Need a hand?”

Ivar shakes his head. “I got this.” 

It's rare, extremely rare, for Ivar to wait on Heahmund, usually he sits on his ass and has to be ordered to help, so Heahmund sits down by the table and lets Ivar do the work.  
They eat in silence for a while, but neither has much of an appetite. Eventually Heahmund leans back and knows they can't avoid the topic anymore. “You shouldn't have signed those papers.”

“Don't worry about it,” Ivar says, again, gathering up the plates and carrying them over to the sink.

Heahmund feels annoyance flaring back up. “Sit your ass down, Ivar, and talk to me.”

Sighing, Ivar makes his way back to the table and sits down, looking into Heahmund's eyes. “Listen, I'm sorry they dragged you into this. I didn't... I thought they would go after Ove. Ever since my, heh, accident, he's been pretty much running things, and he hates Ellen as much as I do. We had him under surveillance, waiting for her to make her move, but...” Here Ivar hesitates for a moment, struggling with an unfamiliar feeling; guilt. “I didn't think she'd go after you.”

“I'm not angry at you for what she did,” Heahmund underlines, “I'm angry that she got what she wanted. You shouldn't have signed those papers.”

Ivar watches him for a few seconds, scanning his face and the anger he sees there, then appears to make a decision. “Like I told you; don't worry about it. She might have control right now, and for a while I'm going to let her think she's gotten away with it, roll around in her victory like a pig in mud, but when the time is right; I'm taking it all back, Heahmund. And she'll **pay** for daring to touch you. I'm going to make her regret ever being born.” And that was a deadly promise.

Heahmund holds his gaze. “I want in.”

“What?” Ivar blinks, slightly confused, yet intrigued against his will.  
“I want in.” Heahmund repeats, his voice cold. “This is my fight too now.”  
“It's going to be brutal.” Ivar warns. He sounds wary, like he thinks Heahmund doesn't understand.  
“Good.” Heahmund feels no flicker of pity. “I owe that Bjørn several kisses with a knife.”

Ivar's pupils dilate and he smiles a little as he leans forward, watching Heahmund intently and he is fascinated beyond words at the darkness he sees in him. “I want to fuck you.”

Heahmund feels a heat spark in his groin. “Not yet.” He gestures him closer though. 

Ivar goes willingly, straddling his lap and getting comfortable, an intimidating wall of muscle and intent, which Heahmund merely pulls closer.

“When the time is right,” Heahmund murmurs by Ivar's ear, using his hands on his hips to make him grind down on him, “we should cut that thug of hers first. Send him to her, piece by piece.” He hears and feels Ivar shudder, most definitely feels him hardening against himself, and it fuels him further. His voice is a rough whisper. “And then I want to watch you deal with her.”

Ivar shivers like an agitated racehorse and then he claims Heahmund's lips in a ravenous kiss. “I have to fuck you. Now.” He growls against his mouth.

“Are you going to let me help you get your company back?” Heahmund breathes back. He bites at Ivar's lower lip.

“Hell, okay, yes, fine,” Ivar relents with a snarl, pulling impatiently at Heahmund's shirt. 

Triumphant, Heahmund allows himself one more moment where he pulls Ivar against his own straining cock, then he pushes him away. “Bedroom. Now.”  
Ivar doesn't have to be told twice.

-

Heahmund can't help the triumphant grin on his face as he lies on his back on the bed, pushed and maneuvered around, stupidly aroused by the way Ivar manhandles him like he, a big and muscular man himself, weighs nothing. He barely lifts his hips to help Ivar when he tugs his pants and underwear off as if they had personally insulted him. They are naked in record time.  
Ivar is even rougher and more impatient than usual, but Heahmund does nothing to calm him down.

It's anything but delicate when Ivar prepares him for his cock. Heahmund grunts as Ivar's slick fingers push roughly into him, spreading him wide and it burns, but all Heahmund does in return is to push his hips hard against Ivar's hand and exhale a shaky smile at the sensation.

Before Ivar, he was never into rough stuff, but for some twisted reason; he loves the way it feels now. The pleasure feels so much sweeter on the edge of pain. He can take anything and everything Ivar dishes out, so he provokes Ivar to see if he is man enough to deliver. 

At one point Ivar rears up, shoving Heahmund down against the mattress, covers his body with his own, and seconds later he is inside him. They both shudder and groan at that feeling, especially when Ivar pulls back a little to ram himself even deeper, as deep as possible, and for a moment; he stills there. He leans down, places his forehead against Heahmund's, and they merely pant at each other's open mouths while their brains scramble to catch up with their bodies.

Several heartbeats later, Heahmund feels Ivar's hands sliding down to take a hold of his hips and he then starts fucking him with hard intent. While they are capable of being gentle, there is nothing sweet or careful about this. Heahmund digs his fingers into Ivar's skin and eggs him on, challenges him. And he delivers.

Every thrust Ivar makes inside him now pushes a moan out from Heahmund's lips, so he pulls and bites at Ivar to keep it up, to give him more, to send him over the edge.  
He loses track of time, but soon Heahmund can feel it starting to build; one glorious release. 

He's almost there, almost, so close he can almost taste it, feel it, almost, when Ivar pulls out and breaks free from Heahmund's arms, disrupting everything and making it all fall apart.

Heahmund doesn't get to voice his displeasure, not beyond a furious growl, because he is quickly yanked over on his belly, his legs spread, his hips pulled up and Ivar is inside him again within seconds.

The even deeper angle has Heahmund groaning mindlessly, semi-muffled by the sheets, and he's not even aware of how his body shifts to accommodate the new position. His hands clutch desperately at the sheets, his knees dig into the mattress, his back arches, his lungs struggle for enough air and sweat is trickling down his skin.

Ivar is breathing hard as well, hunched over him, fingers leaving bruises on Heahmund's hips, and he appears to have lost all ability to speak as he works him hard.

Heahmund manages to choke out a “Fuck!” when Ivar hits that spot inside him that always threaten to break his brain before he turns to suffocate the increasingly loud moans into the mattress. His body goes from already tense to locking down like iron against the merciless pleasure approaching a climax. It's going to be massive, almost too much to handle, and Heahmund shivers.

Ivar's hand suddenly wrapping around his cock, giving him a couple of rough tugs, that's all it takes.

Heahmund comes so hard he almost blacks out for a moment. It feels like he's going supernova.  
Ivar growls, shudders and struggles to keep moving through Heahmund's body clenching down fiercely on him, making it unbearably good, before it softens a little and continues to clutch and release in the best kind of torture as the orgasm tapers off.

Heahmund collapses, boneless, unable to command his limbs, and he focuses on trying to regain his breath and braincells while residual pleasure and pain jolt through him as Ivar continues to chase his own release. Hell, even the displeasure at his overly sensitive body being hammered away at like this feels insanely good to Heahmund, and a random thought flickers briefly into his mind that maybe their relationship isn't entirely healthy. But the thought is quickly dismissed because Heahmund is not giving up this, ever. He is now consciously aware of the fact that he will kill to protect this, and he continues to enjoy the hardness of Ivar slamming into sensitive and sore areas.

He absently reaches back, searches, and finds where he can dig his fingers into Ivar's hair, gets a grip on the sensitive strands by the neck, and Heahmund pulls at them. “Come on...” He pants, orders: “Show me what you got. Give it to me. I want it.”

Ivar growls again, barely sounding human, and his hips snap even harder.

Heahmund closes his eyes, delighting in how he's definitely going to feel this tomorrow, and continues to encourage Ivar ,until there is a painful bite when Ivar's teeth dig into the area between Heahmund's neck and shoulder and he can feel Ivar's cock twitching inside him as he comes every bit as hard as Heahmund had.

Like always, Ivar continues to move for a little while longer, chasing the final slivers of his orgasm, trying to prolong the feeling for a long as possible, unwilling to let it stop. Ivar is greedy in every aspect of his life, but Heahmund doesn't mind.

Finally Ivar collapses as well, a heavy weight on Heahmund's back, and they lie in silence as the minutes pass by. It's a good silence. 

Heahmund feels like he's been run over by a train, his entire body is starting to voice its complaints; hurt throbs in countless places, his wound has torn several strips and is bleeding again, and yet he can feel the drowsy smile on his lips. Ivar hasn't moved, still latched on to his back like an extremely heavy and very sweaty blanket.  
“I guess I shouldn't have bothered with that shower,” Heahmund finally muses out loud.

Ivar grunts. “Or you should've let me come with you and we could have done this there.”

Heahmund has to smile at that. “Your back, remember? I don't think we're ready for up-against-the-wall fucking just yet.”

Ivar grunts again. “I doubt it would be any more hard work than his.” He sounds exhausted.

Now Heahmund actually laughs a little. He also decides that they are coherent enough to return to the real world, so he twists and tips Ivar unceremoniously off his back to the mattress. There is an unsatisfied grumble at that so Heahmund turns and gives Ivar a soft kiss as a bribe to avoid any sulking.  
Predictably enough, Ivar draws him closer and turns the kiss deep and long lasting.  
It actually takes more than a little willpower for Heahmund to pull away. 

“Did you mean it?” Ivar suddenly asks, holding on to Heahmund's wrist to prevent him from getting out of bed. His eyes are very solemn. “About wanting in? Are you sure?”

Heahmund has to lean in and give him another kiss, mumbling against his lips; “I'm deadly serious.”  
Ivar shivers, then pulls him into a fierce kiss. One that almost escalates into more.  
Heahmund forces himself to pull away again. “I'm not an idiot, Ivar. I know what I'm asking.”

“What you think you know is one thing, but seeing it, being a part of it, is often another.”

Nodding, acknowledging the truth in those words, Heahmund absently reaches out and fixes Ivar's hair. “I'm still sure.”

Ivar watches him for a little while, then he relaxes and nods. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Heahmund echoes, sealing the deal and signing it with a final kiss.

-

It takes close to two months, but when the time does come, Heahmund is the one to take a knife to the captured Bjørn, leaving Ivar both impressed and mute with lust. (There is that voice in Heahmund's head again, saying things aren't quite right with him and Ivar, but it keeps getting weaker and weaker.)

If anything, seeing how easily Heahmund handles the blood and violence and not losing any sleep over it, they become even closer as Ivar stops protecting him from his sometimes shady business.  
Heahmund still sticks to his own job, he loves it too much to give it up, but he has no trouble with what Ivar does as long as no innocents are involved and he will occasionally help out if needed.

Ove is somewhat unsettled and Henry nearly has a seizure when they get a text from Heahmund containing a picture of a rosy-cheeked and winter clothed Ivar, grinning widely, next to an also winter clothed, grinning Heahmund, wearing his insanely expensive and oh so classy sunglasses, on the skiing trip which he had promised Ivar if he was a good boy and did his exercises to improve his back.

Then there also comes the time when Heahmund's (very rich and upper class) parents INSISTS on them visiting and Heahmund feels nauseous at the idea.  
Bad enough he has a shaky relationship with his parents, but for them to meet Ivar and start giving him a horrible time about his choice of partner in addition to his job... He tries to avoid it, but to no avail. His mother is relentless. 

Ivar is positively gleeful when he is told. That is not comforting. Heahmund considers fleeing the country and starting up a new life as a religious zealot in some desolate monastery.

During said dinner, Heahmund finds himself wound up tighter than a piano wire, waiting for the explosion, especially when his father starts complaining about his son's silly job, but to his shock; Ivar smoothly responds with how Heahmund helped him when he was hurt, how he has helped others, how he eases their pain, and keeps a pleasant smile on his face throughout the entire meal. 

Once he has the chance, Heahmund leans over to hiss in Ivar's ear; "Who are you and what have you done with the real Ivar?"  
Razor sharp amusement flickers in Ivar's eyes, yet his smile never wavers.  
Heahmund squints suspiciously at him.

But it does end with Heahmund's parents unable to complain about Ivar's looks, his financial status (Luckily they have no idea what is behind Ivar's company.) or his manners, probably giving them ulcers for the foreseeable future. This leaves Heahmund himself in such a good mood that when they get home; Ivar gets a full body massage and a little extra; a reward he happily accepts.

It takes them over six months to get a hold of Ellen. She keeps slipping through their hands.

But when they do, only due to Ivar's extreme scheming capability, she is met with the combined fury of the two and she knows she did a terrible mistake by challenging them.  
Ivar makes sure she disappears for good and Heahmund watches. This time it is Heahmund who can't keep his hands off his partner and a nearby closet will have to do.

With the threat of Ellen gone, everything calms down and Ivar decides he can't be bothered to work as much as he used to. He delegates a lot to Ove and Henry and starts a group of small projects of his own.

Heahmund pretends to believe Ivar is merely doing it to carry favor with him when he donates a large sum to his wing in the hospital, but he knows that Ivar does it so others like him may walk again too. (There are still days when his limp is pretty bad.) Ivar doesn't like it when people discover he can be kind and generous, so he hides behind ulterior motives and Heahmund lets him.

On the one year anniversary of Ivar's accident that landed him in the hospital, they end up at an art exhibit after Ivar got an invite and said he couldn't refuse. The event was to show off the works belonging to a man called Floki, someone Heahmund has never heard of, and he's quite surprised to learn this man has been more or less an adoptive father to Ivar. (Ragnar's absence in Ivar's childhood is not something Ivar likes to talk about and Heahmund knows better than to pry.)

When Heahmund finally gets to meet Floki, it is certainly an experience. The tall, gangly man wraps Ivar up in a bear-hug, lifting him off the ground, and instead of being murdered on the spot, there is a heartfelt laugh instead. It's so rare to see Ivar genuinely care about and be happy around someone not-Heahmund that Heahmund almost feels jealous. 

Ivar then introduces Heahmund and Floki sends him a dry look, clearly wondering if this man could be worthy of his adopted son. He doesn't look all that convinced. Great.  
Heahmund is relieved to hear that Floki is leaving once the weekend is over, as he and Ivar starts speculating about how long it would take to sail around the world. Heahmund hates boats!

Sauntering away from the two lunatics, Heahmund uses the time to look at the art instead. The exhibit's theme is “Vikings”, one of which Floki claims to be named after.  
Heahmund discovers that despite his insanity; Floki's paintings are actually quite good.  
The paintings are both beautiful and brutal in equal measure, but Heahmund ends up lingering by one called 'The Great Heathen Army' and reads the description next to the painting with a faint smile.

“What's so funny?” Ivar's voice asks as he steps up next to him.  
Heahmund nods towards the picture. “Did you know there was also a viking called Ivar? Ivar, The Boneless.”  
Ivar frowns. “There were probably a bunch of Ivars back then. It's not an uncommon name.”

Heahmund keeps reading, even more amused. “It says here they called him The Boneless because he couldn't walk. I should've known this when I first met you back at the hospital. Are all Ivars prone to losing their legs?”

Ivar's frown deepens. He's clearly not finding this funny at all. He looks like someone remembering something unpleasant.“What about you? Heahmund is an old name too. There's probably some talkative asshole who tormented the vikings with his babble, like you are annoying me now.”

Shrugging one shoulder, Heahmund keeps his eyes on the painting. “If there was a Heahmund back then, I'm pretty sure he'd be a skilled warrior, kicking viking asses.” He finally glances over at Ivar with an obnoxious smirk on his face. 

Ivar's eyes narrow. “He was probably skilled, but not skilled enough to defeat Ivar the Boneless. He probably ended up getting captured and brought back as a slave.” There is spite in his words.  
Bizarrely enough, Heahmund can feel himself tensing up and almost getting angry, much like Ivar already is. “If he did, I'd think he'd be smart enough, or lucky enough, to escape in some way.”  
Ivar's remarkable eyes flare. “Maybe. If he had no honor, if he wasn't above lying and breaking his promise.”

Now Heahmund **is** angry. “Whatever promises were given, it was probably done so under the threat of death and given little choice. You can't hold a person to a promise given under such circumstances.”

“Choice,” Ivar growls, “is exactly what you, he, had. A choice to live, a choice to die, and he chose to lie.” There is something dangerously close to contempt in his eyes. “Whatever faults Ivar had, at least he never lied to him.”

Heahmund opens and closes his mouth a couple of times. He wonders if Floki spiked the champagne they'd been given earlier, because right now he can imagine Ivar covered with blood, wearing some kind of armor, staring at him with fury as Heahmund gives him a mocking bow on the battlefield, with Heahmund telling himself he's doing the right thing, that Ivar was merely sent to test him, that he can't be lusting after a heathen man, an insane man, that his urge to return to his side will fade with time. Heahmund can almost picture himself dying regretting that very decision.

In that moment, they both totter on the verge of their first lives, old resentments and hurt is bubbling just under the surface, unknown to them;

_~_  
_“How could you?” Ivar's soul sneers._  
_“I did what I had to.” Heahmund's soul counters angrily. “I didn't owe you anything. I was your captive!”_  
_“You said I could trust you!”_  
_“I said what I had to, in order to survive.”_  
_“You lied. You lied and you betrayed me with that whore!”_  
_“What about you? You turned to dark magic and made us suffer for a thousand years!”_  
_“You deserved to suffer for a thousand years for what you did.”_  
_“I wasn't the only one suffering, you idiot! You made us fall in love, over and over again, only to be torn apart every damn time. For a thousand years!”_  
_“The curse only ensured we'd meet, every century for one millennium. There is no spell to force someone to fall in love.”_  
_“What?”_  
_“You heard me. You wanted me as much as I wanted you, and still you betrayed me. I tried to believe you were different from the others, that you were as noble as you claimed to be, hoped that I could trust you. But in the end, you were just like them.”_  
_“You were dangerous, Ivar. You were going to kill so many people, on both sides.”_  
_“So were you, so did you. We were the same, two sides of one coin, that's why I wanted you.”_  
_“I wasn't ready to see that.”_  
_“Are you now?”_  
_~_

Heahmund takes a deep breath and finds himself saying; “If he did break his word, believing he was doing the right thing, do you think he could ever be forgiven?”  
Ivar stares at him for several heartbeats and Heahmund swears he can remember looking up at the moon and feel a knife on his skin. But, it can't be a real memory, can it? Whatever it is, it's banished when Ivar reaches out and takes a light hold of Heahmund's wrist. His touch is warm. Real.

“My father told me something once.” Ivar says, the anger gone and replaced with a tired calm. “He said; don't look back, you're not going that way.”

The past was the past, what was done was done, did they really want to linger on that now? Did they want to reopen old wounds, so close to the surface, and risk discovering things that would drive them apart? Or could they be content with a hard-won second chance and look to the future?

Heahmund smiles a little, feels a dizzying sensation of unspeakable relief that he can't explain. He turns his hand to take a hold of Ivar's wrist in return. “Do you want to get out of here?”  
Ivar nods. “Let's go home.”

And as they leave, close enough to touch, leaning into each other, drawn to the other, their other half, Floki watches them.

“About time,” he says and giggles softly to himself.

\---

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we have finally come to the end! It's been a long ride and I want to thank Every Single One of you for joining me on it. This fic was continued and not abandoned because of the support and kindness I got from the amazing Heavar fandom. I have read and cherished every comment and you are ALL amazing and I know all of your names, thank you!  
> A special shout out goes to Gentrychild, NotWhoIAppearToBe, cutiecupcakescry33, HorrorJunkie and Etace98. <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Surrender](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20669345) by [NotWhoIAppearToBe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotWhoIAppearToBe/pseuds/NotWhoIAppearToBe)




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